


The Fox You've Been Waiting For

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (id argue its happy but ppl have been miffed), M/M, ambiguous ending, rich boy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis isn't in love with Harry, but it’s something like that. A story where Louis is a contradiction and Harry thinks he’s the greatest.</p><p>"He wants to be loved and he wants to be the best but he wants it whispered to him, so quietly he almost can’t hear it, on Harry’s lips that sting like nettles. Harry’s golden in the sun and ivory in the moonlight and Louis wants to be in his orbit. He wants them to be kings."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fox You've Been Waiting For

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Long time no see c:  
> So this fic has been a bit of time getting done, but I think I'm finally happy with it! Zayn is nonbinary, just so no one is confused about the pronouns. The title is from the song Cherry Bomb by the runaways. There are a few references to pieces of clothing really common in the prep aesthetic that's popular on the US east coast, a quick google should help you out on those. (: 
> 
> Okay so I have quite a few thank yous:
> 
> Thank you Lizzie eravain who is a DELIGHTFUL AND ENCOURAGING BETA, WHO IS INVALUABLE TO MY STORIES. WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT HER??? UNKNOWN????  
> Thank you to Pixie Specklesocks who is so candid and doesn't let me get away with literally anything, which is the sort of thing i need in my life probably.  
> Thank you to J Latitta, for always being such a helpful bouncing board for all my ideas, you're so encouraging.  
> Thank you to Spencer brokenlouis for loving bratty Louis more than anyone I've ever met, you're a princess <33  
> Thankyou to sohappytobecheysummer, even though your computer broke before you could finish!
> 
> Anyway that's it, I really hope you guys like this one!

_It’s winter in Manhattan, the sky spitting flakes onto busy Christmas roads and Louis is sitting in a taxi, his patched and worn Burberry coat wrapped tightly around him. Deck the halls is playing on the radio, and Louis hums the words under his breath, nursing a peppermint hot chocolate in his chilled hands._

_He stares out the window, watching bundled up New Yorkers spill out of warmly lit stores and onto the icy sidewalk. The taxi winds up a bus street and the world rushes by in a pink cheeked blur._

_The driver stops suddenly, and Louis looks up, catching sight of an all black car with a set of diplomatic plates. A smile tugs at his lips, long ago memories slipping back to him in a slow, nostalgic drip._

 

xx

 

The moving trucks start filing up the driveway one lemon scented morning while Louis lounges outside his pool, anchor print swim trunks sitting low on his hips as he takes his fifth selfie. There’s some question of whether or not it’s weird to post pictures of himself tanning by the pool two days in a row, but he’d had Lemonade the day before and this time he has a Pina Colada, so they’re two very different pictures really.

He probably would have remained oblivious to the moving trucks if Lottie hadn’t come rushing poolside in her Lily to inform him that their new neighbor is both cute and a boy. 

“Do I look okay? Should we say hi? Should we wait until tomorrow?” she asks, taking out her phone to send off a text in the middle of her barrage of questions. “Tere thinks I should say hi today and Rose thinks we should wait until tomorrow and bring over a pie. Can you make pie?”

“When would I have ever given any indication of knowing how to make pie?” Louis asks, looking through his pictures. “Which picture says ‘having a great time lounging by the pool with my pina colada?” 

“Is this virgin?” Lottie asks, sitting down on the concrete next to him and stealing a sip. “Ew, rum.”

“Lottie. Pictures.” He holds out his phone, flipping through the shots. 

“If I choose can we get our hands on a pie and take it over to cute neighbor boy?” She asks, and if Louis wasn’t dangerously close to being roped into her pie mission, he’d be impressed by her bargaining skills. 

“Fine,” he says, waving his phone at her until she takes it. 

“Second one. You look stupid in the rest,” she says, handing the phone back with a smile that’s more evil than friendly. 

“Love you.” He replies, posting with the caption ‘poolside, where are you?’ “God I love myself.”

“Funny how loving me goes so quickly back to loving yourself,” she says melodramatically, like she doesn’t spend an hour getting ready every morning. He’s actually a little alarmed by how similar they’ve become, though he’ll never tell her that. “Come on, pie time. I’ll never seduce this neighbor boy if some other bitch gets their hands on him first.” She tugs on his hands until he heaves himself out of the pool lounge, taking him by the arm and leading them into the house.

“How am I supposed to become bronzed if you don’t let me tan?” he asks tiredly, following her to the kitchen where the help are just starting dinner. 

“Go to a tanning salon like everyone else,” she says, and Louis puts on a show of being affronted. 

“I’m all natural,” he says, and she smacks him in the side for his trouble.

 

xx

 

Louis lets his mom, Lottie, and Felicity deliver the pie and doesn’t think about the new neighbors until long after school has started. He’s coming back from a party, wasted and glib with it, when he sees a boy strolling down the sidewalk like he owns the entire night and everything in it. 

“You’re out late.” Louis calls from his front gate, stumbling to lean on the brick walls that surround their estate. The cool november breeze brushes his flushed cheeks and he grins for the hell of it, waving with lazy fingers.

“To be fair, so are you.” The boy responds with a shrug. He’s wearing chinos and a fitted blazer, curls falling messy on his head, and Louis wonders what he’s dressed up for. 

“Yeah, but I’m trying to get in.” Louis says, and it made more sense in his head. “What are you so dressed up for?”

“Dinner party.” He rolls his head, smiles like he’s heard all of it before. “Why are you so drunk?”

“Regular party.” Louis says, smiling broad and careless.

“Was it fun?” The boy asks, sticking his hands in his pockets and coming to stop a few paces away from Louis like he’s going to stay a while. 

“Of course.” Louis says, because he always has fun and everyone always knows.

“You’re Louis Tomlinson, aren’t you?” The boy asks wisely, and Louis exults in it, because his reputation precedes him like a red carpet.

Louis nods slow, letting the moment wash over him. “What have you heard about me?”

He seems to debate for a moment, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to figure out the right answer. “Interesting rumors.”

“Anything good?” Louis asks, because he wants to hear the boy say more words about him.

“Well, I heard that you slept with Katy Perry and that you got plastic surgery on your ass.” He begins, cautiously, watching Louis like he might to jump and yell boo. “I also heard that you got a girl expelled and that you have a tattoo on your thigh that says princess.” He has a crooked smile that says he doesn’t believe a word of it, but Louis thinks he might with any amount of persuasion.

Louis laughs, on purpose and loud in the dark night. “You’re giving me ideas.”

“So you didn’t really make a deal with the devil for perfect hair?” The boy presses, and Louis likes the way his whole body is flirtatious; self assured and gorgeous.

“Not yet,” Louis says, sticking his hands in his back pockets with a grin. 

“You know, I heard you were kind of awful. You’re really not.” He says slowly, like he’s not sure if Louis knows that’s the sort of thing people whisper about him.

Louis does. He holds a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.”

He smiles. “I won’t.”

Louis types in the code for his front gate, letting it swing open. “Night, neighbor.”

“My name’s Harry Styles,” He says, like he’s used to other people just knowing. Louis likes being one step ahead. 

“That’s nice.” Louis says, and winks at him to soften it, stumbling up the long drive to his gold lit house.

 

xx

 

Louis listens in class, but not always to the teacher. He’s sitting in the back next to Zayn, drawing penises on his paper while his teacher goes through a powerpoint on the odyssey. Zayn has Louis’ left hand in theirs, and they’ve been drawing on Louis’ palm for the last ten minutes.

Louis already read the summary of the odyssey they’d been given the night before, so he isn’t really sure why they’re going over it in class. The teacher gestures to the different points on the circle with her finger, speaking in a clipped drone. “The hero’s journey begins with a call to adventure, one they can either accept or deny. The journey often includes a mentor or helper, who guides the hero through the challenges and temptations of the journey. This leads to the fall from grace, which is both the death and rebirth of the hero. Following the hero’s metaphorical rebirth comes a return to beginnings, and enlightenment.”

Louis knows all of this, it was on the handout she gave them last week, and he has no idea why she feels the need repeat it. He tunes her out, listening to Eleanor - a junior with a pale pink bow in her hair - talk to her friend Perrie in a whisper that rises and falls with how excited she is.

“His name’s Harry, I heard his parents work for the FBI, like spies and stuff.” Eleanor says, and Louis tries not to perk up at the mention of his new neighbor. It’s been a few weeks since their first conversation, and he’s seen Harry a few times since, usually surrounded by a gaggle of girls, looking almost too comfortable in the stiff uniform of their private school. 

“If they were spies, we wouldn’t know that they were spies, dummy,” Perrie says, and Zayn lets out a puff of laughter. “I heard that they were diplomats.” She has a pretty sort of voice and hair that falls down her back in a pale blonde waterfall, and when she speaks, Zayn goes still.

“Nick said he moved here from London. Apparently they talk during chemistry.” Louis believes it, because Nick is a reliable source most times. Eleanor is easily swayed by sensational stories, but Nick has a level head and Louis hasn’t known him to leave a cute boy alone.

“I wonder if he has a girlfriend back in London,” Perrie says dreamily, and Louis nearly peers over to check that she hasn’t put P + H in the middle of all her hearts. He’s going to have to watch both of them, they’re going to start ordering their monogrammed polos with S in the middle. Zayn has stopped drawing at Perrie’s words and Louis tries to look sympathetic, but they just shrug it off. Louis doesn’t want to protect many people, but he wants to throw himself between Zayn and the world. 

“Danielle says he’s single.” 

Louis frowns, because Danielle likes to make things up.

“He’s all mine then. He won’t even know what hit him,” Eleanor says with a satisfied smile, turning to look at her unfinished worksheet. “Wait, does the hero really die?”

“No, it’s like, a metaphor.”

Louis tunes them out, looking at the artwork that’s happening on his hand: a swirling and dark forest that’ll stain his fingers for a day or two. Hopefully he won’t get written up for it like last time, but he loves Zayn’s artwork even under the threat of a lunch detention. “That’s sick.”

Zayn grins, because they already know. “Didn’t Harry move into the house next to you?”

Louis nods slowly, still trying to figure out what he wants to do with Harry Styles. He thinks he might like him, with his red lips and the way everything he says is a tease. He thinks he might be a threat, with the challenge in his eyes and the growing passel of girls falling in love with him. “Can’t decide whether to collect him or take him down.”

Zayn laughs, giving a tremendous eye roll. “Not everyone needs to be collected or taken down. Maybe try and be friends with him?”

“Collecting someone and being their friend is practically the same thing.” Louis says, even as Zayn gives a tremendous eyeroll.

“You know that’s not true.” Zayn says in the tone they use when they’re feeling a little high and mighty.

“I don’t need any more friends. One liability is enough.” Louis says, but he keeps his eyes soft because Zayn is the best thing and the most important.

“Well this liability thinks you need to trust and open up to more people. Not everyone is out to get you.” Zayn says sagely, picking up their pen and examining their handiwork one more time.

“Not true.” Louis says plainly, because he knows what he’s done, knows he’s ruined reputations and broken up relationships. He knows it’s only their fear of being eaten that keeps them from eating him alive.

Zayn just shakes their head, looking down at the paper in front of them instead of rehashing a tired argument. “Do your homework, princess.”

“I knew you started that rumor.” Louis hisses, poking Zayn in the thigh. 

“I knew you’d like it.” Zayn replies, and Louis starts his next math problem before Zayn has time to gloat.

 

xx

 

Louis is sipping something fruity at one of the tables near the tennis court, watching Cher and Eleanor smack the ball back and forth, orange and lime tennis skirts swishing in the artificial light. 

“I miss summer, tennis is crap inside,” Leigh Anne says, tapping her Jack’s on the fake green grass. In the warmer months, they frequent the outdoor courts like locusts in neon polyester blends, sucking down juices and gossiping under the awnings. In the winter, they’re relegated to the three indoor courts their country club has to offer.

“My tan is fading,” Louis adds, putting on his best sad face. 

“My poor white baby,” Leigh Anne says, holding up her arm with a grin. 

Louis makes a face at her, as Jesy laughs at both of them.

“Get a fake tan like everyone else,” Jesy says, examining her manicure, a smile tugging on her face like she already knows what Louis’ reaction will be.

“Don’t insult me, you know I’m all natural,” Louis replies, following his script like he always does. His eyes flick back over to Eleanor and he thinks about her tone of voice when she talked about Harry, like she owned him already, and Louis feels the sudden urge to say something cruel. He debates a moment, sending a selfie to Zayn that says ‘losing my tan sadface’ before beginning. “You know, I think El’s nose job looks really good on her.”

“Her what?” Jesy says, her eyes narrowing like a cat with a mouse.

“You didn’t notice? Her nose looks so different this year.” Louis says innocently, because he knows they all think he’s fucking clueless. “I didn’t think it was supposed to be a secret!” He slaps his hand over his mouth like he’s let something slip.

“You really think she got a nose job?” Leigh says, her smile a little bit evil. 

“I mean, maybe not, it’s just, I just feel like her nose used to be wider.” Louis says, backing off so it doesn’t seem too forced. He fights back a grin at the way they’re all looking at El like they’re ready to swallow her up. It doesn’t matter if any of it’s real, they all just want the story, the guts and the gore. 

“Oh my god you’re right,” Jesy says triumphantly, letting out a mean little laugh. “And she probably thought no one would notice.”

“How cute.” Leigh adds, taking a long sip of ice water. “It’s like she doesn’t think we know what nose jobs look like, come on, it’s 2007.”

Louis sits back, quiet and burning with contentment, because it always works. 

Game, set, match.

 

xx

 

Louis sticks his hands into the pockets of his peacoat as he hurries down the steps, joining his friends on the lawn. It’s getting a bit cold to eat outside, a wintery breeze crisping the leaves burnt orange and dark red and sneaking up into the collars of his shirts. All the girls have exchanged their Jack Roger’s sandals for Hunter boots, and Louis has a burberry plaid scarf tied around his neck. If their fingers are stiff around their sandwiches, they stick their hands in each other’s pockets and try not to notice.

Louis is listening to Stan, the best hockey player the school’s had in years, talk about his most recent trip to Cabo when he notices Harry bouncing a soccer ball on his knee like this is Eton. He doesn’t seem to be very good at it, dropping it after a few careless bounces, but a few girls are clapping for him and laughing every time he keeps it in the air.

Leigh Anne is next to him, looking aloof and chilly in her shep shirt and neat braids, and he wants to say something about Harry. He watches as Harry passes the ball to a girl Louis doesn’t recognize, and she gives it an enthusiastic, if a little off kilter, kick back. He slips his phone out of his pocket, texting Zayn with numb hands.

 

Louis 12:23

Why can’t you eat lunch with us, I get so bored :(((

 

Zayn 12:34 

because people will stop thinking im your mysterious and cool confidante if I actually have to talk to your shitty friends

 

Louis makes a sadface at the screen even though Zayn doesn’t have the privilege of seeing it. 

 

Louis 12:34

They aren’t shitty!!!

 

Louis takes another few bites of his sandwich and assures Stan that he’s sure the bitches in Massachusetts are just as good as the bitches in Cabo. Jesy gives him a golf clap for his trouble. Louis checks his phone, and rolls his eyes when he realizes Zayn is ignoring him.

 

Louis 12:36 

I guess they’re kinda shitty. It’s so terrible, because I can’t tell them my devious schemes. 

 

Louis can practically hear Zayn sighing on the other end of the line. They always eat lunch in the art room, reading the Times and sleeping, and if Louis didn’t have to keep up appearances, he’d probably hide in there too. 

 

Zayn 12:36

More devious schemes???

 

Louis 12:36

I need to collect Harry Styles. It’s the only way.

 

Zayn 12:37

I’m rolling my eyes at your word choice

 

Zayn 12:37

So go collect him then, why is this a problem

 

Louis stares at his phone for a moment, then flicks his eyes back up to Harry, who is loping after the ball as it comes to a rolling stop by an old oak tree. Harry feels somehow untouchable, like Louis can’t bring him into his web as easily as he had with everyone else. It’s disconcerting, the loss of control, and he wants to know how to make it stop. 

 

Louis 12:38

I don’t really know 

 

Louis tucks his phone back in his pocket, carrying out half hearted conversations about Cabo and tennis and panic over college applications as his thoughts keep slipping over to Harry. He thinks the problem leads back to that first night when he let his guard down, when he let Harry see the bones of it all. Magic stops being magic when you know how it works, and Louis is usually the best magician. 

He’s interrupted by the smack of something against his leg, and looks down to find Harry’s soccer ball resting against his calf.

(Later, both that night and years after he wonders if Harry kicked it there on purpose. Louis has always had the vague suspicion that while Louis was trying to collect Harry, Harry was trying to collect him.)

“Lose something?” Louis asks, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it, smiling as Harry strides over to the edge of their blanket. He looks like a fall angel, a fallen angel, in his navy blazer and mess of chocolate curls that fall into his eyes.

“I did,” He says easily. 

“I didn’t know you played soccer,” Louis says, rolling the ball between his fingers. On the one hand, he’s teasing him, easing him out and trying to wrap him around his finger. On the other, he wants to talk to Harry for just a little longer.

“I played a bit of football when I lived in England,” Harry replies with a hint of cheek. 

Louis rolls his eyes, tossing the ball up to Harry. “Sorry, football.”

Harry laughs at his tone, which Louis counts as a definite win. “Do you play?”

“Not in the least,” Louis replies, hoping for Harry to offer to teach him with a fervency that surprises even himself.

Harry deliberates for a moment, biting down on his bright pink bottom lip. “Do you want to learn? I could show you what to do?”

Louis regards him levelly even though he wants to jump up more than anything. He’s an expert at playing it cool, and he looks over to his friends. “Do you think I should?”

“Go Louis!” Leigh Anne says brightly and Barbara, a sweet girl who models in her spare time, claps her approval.

“Don’t fuck up,” Stan advises as Louis gets up, and Louis flips him the bird as he adjusts his scarf. He suddenly wishes all his friends weren’t there, that he was alone with Harry, that everyone wasn’t watching and he could be genuine for one second. It’s strange, because it’s a feeling he usually only feels with Zayn. 

“I’m not very good,,” Harry says, a cherubic smile on his face that makes Louis feel reassured and also a little bit like he’s just stepped into a trap.

“I wouldn’t know if you were,” Louis says serenely. “So what do I do?”

“Pass,” Harry replies, kicking the ball evenly at Louis, who awkwardly intercepts it with his oxfords. “Ok now kick it back.”

Louis does, spiking it with the toe of his shoe and watching it roll about three feet shy of Harry, who’s laughing. Louis thinks that this might not have been his best idea, that Harry Styles makes his judgement a little cloudy.

“Use the insides of your feet to pass, your laces if you’re dribbling or shooting. If you punt it with your toe, you don’t have any control.” Harry gives the ball a tap back to Louis.

“I was just testing you,” Louis replies with a grin, kicking it in the way Harry had advised and grimacing when it ends up at Cher’s feet.

“I should have known,” Harry says with a wink, retrieving it and sending it over to Louis.

Louis kicks it back, looking up as the lunch bell rings. “Guess I’ll have to beat you some other time, Styles.”

Harry laughs as Louis slings his bag over his shoulder, entirely unsure who’s ended up on top.

 

xx

 

Zayn’s dining room table is too long, but the regality of it makes sending off their college applications feel a little bit less frantic. Louis is staring down his Yale papers and trying not to hyperventilate as Zayn sneaks the School of Visual Arts application into its envelope. 

“It’s that B I got in Algebra 2. It’s going to kill me. They’re going to look at that B and just-” Louis mimes an explosion, collapsing onto the flower print tablecloth. 

Zayn laughs, giving Louis a sympathetic pat on the head. “And what about that 32 on the ACT, hmm? Do you think that’ll ruin you too?”

“It was a fluke,” Louis mumbles into the table. It feels like they’ve been working towards this point forever, and now that they finally have to send in all their grades and essays Louis is about ready to drop out and flee to Nepal. “I’m going to die and end up at community college.”

“There’s nothing wrong with community college.” Zayn tells him soothingly, grimacing as they lick the envelopes. “And besides, all your safety schools are good schools, even if you don’t get into Yale. Which you will. Stop being a baby.”

Louis makes a whining noise and shoves the papers into the envelope before he can think too hard about it. “It’s a good thing you’re so rational about this.”

“I actually feel like I’m sending my heart and half my soul away for judgement, but ya know,” Zayn says, weighing all their letters in their hands. “I just hide it better than you.”

Louis leans across the table, giving Zayn an ungraceful peck on the hand. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Zayn clutches their hand melodramatically to their chest. “I’ll never wash my hand again now that it’s been touched by your lips.”

“Looks like romance isn’t dead,” Louis says dryly, scooping up the bundle of applications. “Last chance to rip everything apart and write our personal statements for the fifteenth time.”

“I’ll pass,” Zayn says tiredly, gathering up his own bundle. “Been there, done that.”

Louis fans himself with the envelopes, taking a selfie with the other hand. “Perfect, now everyone can feel bad about how not done they are.”

“The only reason to do your apps early.” Zayn says, heading out to the foyer and ringing the bell for the butler, who emerges from the side room.

“Master Malik?” He prompts, making a quick bow of his head. He’s a lean man, with tomato red cheeks and a bald patch at the top of his head. He’s been a permanent fixture at the Malik house for as long as Louis can remember, and Louis gives him a little wave that he reciprocates with another small bow.

“Can you mail these for us?” Zayn asks, holding out their bundle of letters. The Butler takes them, sticking them under his arm. “They’re our applications.”

He gives a quick nod, his mustache twitching when he smiles. “Good luck then.”

Zayn’s mom sweeps down the stairs in pressed white pants and pale blue polo. “Oh are you sending your applications already?” She exclaims, coming down to wrap her arm around Zayn, who looks only slightly alarmed at this sudden onslaught of maternal affection. She’s a warm woman with dyed brown hair and an obsession with rings, and she’d probably adopt Louis if she could.

“You’ve both worked so hard,” she says, giving Louis a fond smile. “I remember when you were just freshmen.”

Zayn rolls their eyes and Louis laughs, because he can literally hear his mom saying the same thing. “I try not to remember,” Louis says, thinking of his bad haircut and penchant for obnoxious outbursts.

“I was a gem freshman year. Unlike someone who thought wearing his tie around his head made him look cool.” Zayn contradicts, even though Louis remembers the brief period where they wore glow sticks as jewelry. It was a dark time for everyone.

Mrs. Malik laughs. “Don’t listen to him, Louis, I’m sure you looked very dashing with your tie around your head.”

Louis tries not to stiffen, and doesn’t meet Zayn’s eyes. “They don’t know anything about modern tie fashion.” Louis says, smiling so his fangs show. 

“I think Louis and I are going to head up to my room, I wanted to show him the new shorts I bought.” Zayn says abruptly, leaning up to kiss their mother on the cheek and then wiggling out of her grasp.

“Alright, too cool to hang out with your mom, I get it.” She puts her hands up in mock offense. “See you for dinner, Love.”

“Will do.” Zayn grabs Louis by the wrist and tugs him up the stairs before he can protest. 

“I told you not to do that.” Zayn’s says when they’re out of sight, breathing heavy and pink cheeked. Their hand is still around Louis’ wrist, thin fingers digging bruises into the flesh.

“Why not?” Louis asks, because he’s seen how every ‘he’ and ‘him’ makes Zayn’s skin crawl and he’s tired of it, tired of watching them hurt. 

“Because she doesn’t know.” Zayn says, eyes angry like embers that just won’t die. “And I can’t tell her.”

“Yes you can,” Louis presses, and he wants to squeeze Zayn so tightly neither of them can breathe because he’s the only one who knows. “I want you to be happy, I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy right now.” Zayn says, tipping their head back like they’re trying not to cry. “She doesn’t even know that what I am exists. I don’t want to get kicked out of my house.”

“You can live with me.” Louis says stubbornly, even though he knows Zayn’s always right about these things. “I’m so sorry. I just hate it so much, you know?”

“It’s okay. I hate it too.” Zayn says quietly, their body sagging like they’re losing their fight. “I don’t want to hide. But I can’t explain. I don’t even know why you understand.”

“It was either understand or lose you.” Louis says simply, because he remembers the night Zayn let it slip that maybe they didn’t really feel like a boy, but not like a girl either. He remembers being confused and messing up the pronouns for weeks, but realizing that nothing was more important than having Zayn. 

Zayn doesn’t reply, but suddenly Louis is wrapped up in gangly arms and gucci cologne, Zayn’s heart beating against his chest. 

“Thank you.” They say quietly, so still.

“Thank you,” Louis replies, and doesn’t let go.

 

xx

 

Weeks ago, Zayn and Louis had outlined the guestlist for his birthday party, writing and crossing out names for hours.

“We can’t invite everyone, it has to be exclusive,” Louis had said for the fifteenth time, a crease in his brow. 

“And if you only invite 30 of the prettiest, richest people in the school it’ll not only be boring, but it’ll look depressing in your inhumanly large house,” Zayn had countered reasonably, rolling over in the middle of Louis’ queen sized bed.

After two servings of pizza rolls, they’d finally compromised, addressing the final invitations by two o’clock in the morning, all the red glittery cards packed in pretty cream envelopes and ready to be sent out.

It’s been happening for years now, first playing spin the bottle in Louis’ basement when they were twelve, and then slowly growing until Louis’ parents told them they’d go stay in a hotel for the night if he wanted to ‘have a few guests over for his birthday.’ 

“I was made to plan events.” Louis tells Zayn triumphantly as he supervises the hanging of mistletoe from all of the doors. It’s a last minute touch, the walls already strung high with tinsel and the enormous evergreens in the living room decked out like the tree in Macy’s.

“It looks like Santa’s asshole in here.” Zayn says from their place on Louis’ table, Christmas socked feet swinging back and forth

“Thank you Zayn, really means a lot to me,” Louis says, giving them a glare.

“That’s a compliment.” Zayn says serenely, giving Louis a wink to let him know they’re joking. “Can I have a cookie now?”

“Not until the other guests arrive you nuisance,” Louis says, yelping as a tower of decorative silver and red wrapped presents topples over. “My kingdom is crumbling,” He says melodramatically as he stacks the presents back up.

“Your kingdom is bizarre and glittery.” Zayn replies, looking around the meticulously decorated house.

Louis grins, skipping back over to them for the express purpose of planting a kiss on Zayn’s cheek. “The best compliment I’ll get all night.”

The doorbell rings a few minutes later, and Louis greets people he knows and probably doesn’t care about as a remix of Deck The Halls echoes through the house. Louis knows Zayn has stuck a bunch of cookies in the pockets of their khakis and sequestered themself away in a corner somewhere, but that’s typical Zayn and Louis doesn’t mind. This party isn’t even really Louis’ scene either, he’s too busy trying to orchestrate perfection to have time to get wasted. That generally happens later, after all the party guests have taken cabs or passed out on Louis’ furniture and he and Zayn can drink eggnog in their boxers and watch It’s A Wonderful Life.

He spends the first three hours greeting: kissing girls on the hand like a prince in a fairy tale and insulting boys too dumb to know any better. It’s mostly for show, having a good time and making sure everyone else is, because this part is for reminding everyone that he’s still the best. 

Louis spots Zayn at the top of the stairs as the Party Like A Rockstar segues into Rocking Around The Christmas Tree, their evergreen sweater rolled up to their elbows and Louis’ favorite reindeer mug in their hands. He leaves a conversation about whether or not bangs are still tacky and climbs the stairs to join them, doing a little excited twirl once he reaches the balcony.

“Very pretty.” Zayn says, giving an awkward little clap while trying to keep their eggnog from spilling. “Party is a success.”

“We’re only 3 hours in Zayn, these are the critical moments.” Louis says, only half seriously, because the party is starting to dissolve into christmassy drunkenness, which means nothing can really go wrong at this point. 

“Your collar is all mussed.” Zayn says instead of dignifying that with a reply, setting the mug down on the cream colored carpet to adjust Louis’ crisp white collar with practiced hands. Louis’s wearing a berry colored jumper over tight fitting chinos, and he thinks the rainbow antlers on his head make him look properly festive. 

“Zayn I feel so festive.” He announces, like saying it somehow enhances the festivity. He holds up his phone, smiling into the camera and pushing Zayn into the frame with the other hand.

“You know I hate to be subjected to this kind of torture.” Zayn grumbles, but vogues into the camera anyway.

Louis yells ‘smile’ as he digs his fingers into Zayn’s ribs, taking the picture just as they burst out laughing. What Louis ends up with is a little bit blurry, and a little bit silly, but they’re both grinning and so Louis captions it ‘Party Hard Xmas 2007’ and posts it to myspace.

He’s just slipped his phone back into his pocket and commenting on the rather impressive pile of gifts when Santa Baby starts to pour out of the speakers, prompting an excited yell from Louis, who takes Zayn by the hands and beings mouthing the words at them in earnest. 

Louis is hoping that the rest of the party will be too drunk to notice that he’s put the Kylie Minogue version of Santa Baby on the party playlist at least 6 times, considering it is the best and most under appreciated of all the christmas songs.

“I don’t understand why you like this song so much.” Zayn laughs as Louis croons through the line about ‘all the fellas that he hasn’t kissed.’ 

“Because it’s a sacred Christmas tradition!” Louis protests quickly, just in time to assure Zayn that next year he’ll be just as good in a ridiculous falsetto.

“You aren’t even singing the notes!” Zayn says, although Louis knows that given another ten seconds Zayn will be singing along with him, because they’ve been going to Louis’ parties for a long, long time. 

“Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that’s-” Louis sings, spinning Zayn in a overdone circle that comes to an abrupt stop when Louis spots Harry Styles himself, standing at the top of the stairs and looking at them with a mixture of surprise, interest, and amusement. “Hello Harry, fancy running into you up here.”

Harry presses his lips together as he tries to figure out how to respond, his eyes flicking down to Zayn’s hands in Louis’ and back up to their flushed cheeks. Louis can’t quite read his expression, so he drops Zayn’s fingers, stepping between both of them and leaning on the railing.

(Later, he realizes that Harry’s reaction might have been jealousy, and the thought still turns his heart to embers.)

“Do you need help with something?” he asks, taking in Harry’s tight black pants, white button down and bright red bow tie. He has a santa hat perched at a lopsided angle on his head and he’s holding a small present wrapped in a gold paper, messy like he did it himself.

“I just wanted to thank you for inviting me.” He says in a quiet voice, milk chocolate and lovely, like he knows he’s intruding but didn’t mean to. “It was cool of you.”

Louis finds himself smiling even though he doesn’t plan on it, because either Harry is a better actor that Louis is, or he means it. 

“No problem.” Louis says casually, noting that Harry doesn’t seem to be drunk either. His hair is a little mussed and his cheeks are pink like maybe he’s been dancing, but his eyes are clear and bright, green like the leaves on the mistletoe. “It’s a pretty big crowd, I always invite a bunch of people from school.”

He can almost hear Zayn scoff behind him, because the party is exclusive, and what on Earth is he even saying.

Harry grins, little crinkles appearing by his eyes. “I asked my friend about it when I got the invitation and he said you only invite the coolest.” 

“Think highly of yourself don’t you?” Louis says jokingly, trying to get himself on even footing, wondering why he wants to let Harry in on all his jokes.

“Evidently you do.” Harry spars back, holding out his badly wrapped present, a gold bow stuck on the top. “Got you something. I wrapped it myself.”

Louis accepts it with a little laugh. “I can tell.”

“What can I say, I usually pay people to wrap my presents.” Harry replies guilelessly. “Anyway, thanks for the invite. Happy birthday.” He gives a tiny little wave, starting back down the stairs with quick, self assured steps.

“Thanks.” Louis replies, looking down at the shoddily wrapped package and feeling oddly like it’s the most important gift he’ll get all night. 

He feels Zayn’s chin rest on his shoulder and starts, feeling like his heart’s in his throat. 

“Oh my,” Zayn says knowingly, and for once, Louis doesn’t protest.

 

xx

 

Louis normally opens birthday presents in a pre-christmas deluge of brightly colored paper and expensive things from his school mates. He opens Harry’s sitting on his bed next to Zayn, the glow of the tv washing them blue. 

“I can’t figure out what it is, it’s a bit circular?” Louis says uncertainly, pressing on the paper with a frown. 

“Then open it and find out.” Zayn says tiredly, their face buried in Louis’ blankets. They’d already ushered the last of the guests out, creeping up to Louis’ bedroom and watching christmas movies as the clock ticked closer to four. “We should go to sleep probably.”

“But I’m so awake,” Louis says, even though he’s mostly delirious. When it gets this late, it feels like the same thing. He pushes his fingers under the creases in the shiny gold paper, tearing it off to reveal a delicate tiara. 

Louis picks up the note from where it fell on his legs. 

 

_What’s a king without a crown? I still think you have that tattoo. - Harry_

 

“Oh my,” Zayn repeats, heaving themselves up to read over Louis’ shoulder. “That’s a bit flirty.”

Louis smacks them, putting the crown on his head. “It’s not flirty.”

“It’s a little flirty,” Zayn says, like they’re the expert on all of this.

Louis tries his best to ignore the way his internal organs shift a little at the thought of Harry flirting with him. Nothing good would come of pursuing that line of thought. He’s not going to become some prom queen’s gay sidekick. He’s the motherfucking king. 

He raises his phone, taking a picture in the blurry darkness. He captions it ‘what’s a king without a crown?’ and posts it, leaning back against his pillows.

“So do you like him?” Zayn presses, wiggling over to rest their head on Louis’ chest. 

“No,” Louis says, with an air of finality that rang better in his head. It comes out quieter in the darkness. 

“Because you don’t like Harry, because you don’t think Harry likes you, or because you don’t like boys?” Zayn asks in a sleepy whisper.

“Are you trying to get me to come out to you?” Louis asks with a laugh, because Zayn’s even more tired than he is. 

“Is it working?” Zayn asks, then laughs. “I’m just curious. You seemed-” They waves their hand around in the air. “Less schemey when you were talking to him. You lost your schemeyness.” 

“I never lose my schemeyness. It is me and I am it,” Louis says, feeling his mouth move slower with every word. The crown is slipping off his head onto the pillow but he’s too lazy to move it back.

The movie is quiet enough that it fades into background noise and Louis can feel Harry on the edge of all of this. Harry with his green eyes that blink like he knows things, like he has x ray vision and can see past Louis’ clothes and maybe into his skin. 

Harry with his lips that smirk and press together and say things that sting in the best way. Louis wants to push at the scratches and push at Harry until they’re backed into a corner and neither of them can get out.

He doesn’t want to be the court jester, doesn’t want everyone to whisper and laugh that he likes boys like that. He just wants to breathe in Harry when no one’s watching and kiss him maybe. Once. More than once.

He wants to be loved and he wants to be the best but he wants it whispered to him, so quietly he almost can’t hear it, on Harry’s lips that sting like nettles. Harry’s golden in the sun and ivory in the moonlight and Louis wants to be in his orbit. 

He wants them to be kings.

 

xx

 

Louis wanders on the edge of his property in a Burberry coat he’d only just unwrapped, the fabric still stiff and new over his wool sweater. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground, the grass and leaf litter layered over by a powder of dirty flakes. Christmas morning is stockings, brunch, and opening presents until the floor is covered by crinkly wrapping paper and bows. Christmas afternoon is quiet and solitary and Louis might like that even better.

There’s a wooden gazebo back by where their estate dissolves into creek, and Louis takes the two steps up inside, sitting down and staring out at the yard. Christmas is like a bubble that grows for weeks and then pops in a sigh of tinsel and snow. 

He takes a picture of the creek, captioning it ‘merry christmas everyone <3’ and posting it with thumbs nearly too cold to navigate the screen. He thinks it’s appropriately introspective, and shoves his cell back in his pocket so he can breathe in the chill winter air. 

He almost reaches back to check if anyone’s responded yet, but thinks better of it. He pulls his hat down over his ears, fretting internally about his applications and college and whatever comes after that. He really has no idea what he wants to do. Something that’ll make money, his internal voice chastises. 

His father has been telling him for years that he’ll always have a place at the company, knows he’s being groomed to be his heir, but Louis isn’t really sure he wants that. He’s talented and smart and has been told that for so long that he believes it, but no one ever told him what would make him happy.

Just the word Yale sends him to the brink of a nervous breakdown so he’s trying not to think about it. What he’d really like to do is build a snowman, but he doesn’t think there’s enough snow for it. 

He thinks about Zayn, with their art school ambitions, and hopes at least one of them is brave enough to defy the world they were born into. The problem is, he doesn’t have a passion like Zayn, only the vague desire to be more than he is. 

He looks up at the rafters of the gazebo where old bird nests rest in the eaves and sighs deep in his chest. He knows all of his friends are lost in their own mansions, fawning over new presents and things they don’t need. He hopes they’re having a good time, even though they’re awful. He’s awful too. They all need each other. 

“I thought I recognized that creek,” A voice says, nervous and low in the winter chill. Louis starts, looking around wildly before his eyes fall on Harry, his arms resting on the white picket fence that separates their estates.

“Are you stalking me?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows at the boy on the other side. He’s wearing big fuzzy earmuffs, and even if Louis had wanted to be irritated, there wouldn’t be a chance.

“Not stalking,” Harry says with a bit of a pout. “I saw your picture and thought you might want company.”

“What if I don’t want company?” Louis replies easily, but he’s smiling so it doesn’t come across as anything other than a tease.

“Then I’ll have to eat this blueberry muffin by myself,” Harry replies, holding up a saran wrapped bit of baked goodness.

“How did you know I liked blueberry?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow with a grin.

“Lucky guess,” Harry says gleefully, his eyes sparkling like the thousands of lights wrapped in every nook and cranny of the Tomlinson front hall.

“Climb over then, can’t have you eating that muffin by yourself.” Louis says, scooting over on the bench with a shiver. Harry is possibly the least graceful boy Louis has ever seen, and he ambles over the fence with all the elegance of a gorilla. Louis tries his best to muffle his giggles, but in the end it doesn’t work.

“I tried,” Harry says as he climbs into the gazebo. “And I didn’t drop the muffin.”

“Because you stuck it in your pocket,” Louis amends, sneaking a glance at the only moderately smushed muffin. 

“So why are you out here all alone instead of inside with your passel of sisters and the rest of the picturesque Tomlinson family?” Harry asks, tugging off his gloves and unwrapping the muffin.

“Why aren’t you with yours?” Louis asks pointedly, because if there was a list of things that Louis ignores, number one is personal questions. Number two is probably cleaning his room.

“Your redirection skills are superb,” Harry observes, holding out the muffin so Louis can tear off a bite. “I wanted to get away from the bustle for a little while. My cousins are going to be here from LA tonight and so naturally my mom is tearing the house apart trying to put the last minutes decorations on everything. Now you go, it’s easy, I promise.”

“I was feeling like a stroll,” Louis replies, savoring the blueberry warmth of the muffin. “I was just sitting and thinking. You interrupted me, actually.”

“Sorry. Carry on.” Harry takes a bite of the muffin, his stupid mouth stretching too wide to try and fit more of it into his mouth that is strictly necessary. 

“I can’t just ‘ _carry on,’_ I’ve been interrupted.” Louis grouches, even though it’s probably good that he was stopped before he could think himself into a downward spiral.

“So do you want to talk about what you were thinking about or should I just talk about myself?” Harry asks, taking another bite of muffin. Louis reaches over to take another piece, afraid it’ll be devoured before he gets his fair share.

“Talk about yourself.” Louis says, crossing his legs and leaning back against the bench. 

Harry makes a noise of disapproval. “Wrong answer. How about you ask me a question, and then I ask you a question?”

“Fine.” Louis says airily, even though he thinks he might regret it. Talking with Harry is strange, because it’s almost like he actually cares what goes on in Louis’ head beyond the normal selfish curiosity of his school friends. As Zayn calls them, only heralded by exaggerated finger quotes: ‘friends.’ “Where do you want to go to college?”

“Don’t know,” Harry says, smiling ebulliently. “Probably UC Berkley. Maybe somewhere small. Carleton or Reed or something.”

“How don’t you know yet?” Louis asks him incredulously, because most application deadlines are in January and he and Zayn have been freaking out about this since sophomore year.

“I’m a junior,” Harry says brightly, and Louis nearly chokes on his muffin.

“I thought you were a senior,” Louis says, feeling a little bit like a pervert. It’s not like Harry is that much younger than him, although technically now that Louis is eighteen, he needs to not be thinking about kissing Harry’s stupidly pink lips. 

“Nope,” Harry says, like all of this is of no consequence to him, which it probably isn’t. Nothing seems to bother him, and it’s that streak of infallibility that makes Louis want to destroy him just a little. “Where are you going to school?”

“Yale,” Louis says, and the word sticks in his throat. “If I get in.”

“Which you will.” Harry points a finger at him. “Clever, you’re deceptively clever.”

Louis smiles. “That’s the idea, yes.”

Harry grins, all white teeth and those stupid pink lips. Louis still wants to kiss him, and he doesn’t know how to turn that part of himself off. It would be a good way to stop Harry from picking him apart, he wouldn’t be able to talk if Louis’ lips were on his. “Ask me another question.”

Louis rolls his eyes, looking at his feet. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to be your friend,” Harry says, like that’s an acceptable answer. “You’re really close to Zayn, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. Harry can come in like a hurricane but he’s not getting to Zayn.

“But he doesn’t sit with you during lunch,” Harry observes, and Louis stares him down. 

“Is that a question or an observation?” Louis asks, tugging up the collar on his jacket against the breeze. No one ever asks about Zayn and really wants to know the answer. Everyone knows they’re Louis’ best friend, that when Louis came tumbling into coolness Zayn was always at his side, quiet and gorgeous. They always use ‘he’ pronouns and don’t notice that Louis does any different, which is just another reason he’ll never trust them. 

Harry doesn’t respond to his question, just looks at him with glassy eyes and pinked up cheeks like a christmas card. 

“They don’t like my friends,” Louis says finally, pulling his gloves out of his pockets and slipping them on. It’s an extra layer of armor against something. 

“They don’t like Zayn?” Harry asks slowly, like he’s puzzling it out. Louis knows he won’t get it, because no one ever does.

“Zayn doesn’t like them,” Louis clarifies, going cold.

“Do you?” 

“This is a lot of questions for me.” Louis says, looking back up at the eaves, at the empty bird’s nests.

“You’re a confusing and interesting person. And I haven’t seen you look as happy as when you were dancing with Zayn at your party. That’s the most fun I’ve ever seen you have.”

Louis’ insides glow a little warmer when he thinks about that moment, about Zayn’s hands in his and the beginning of a duet on their tongues.

“What, you don’t think I have fun with my friends?” Louis asks, smirking, almost joking, almost cruel. This whole thing is making a pit grow in his stomach, dark and growling with weeds he should have cleared out years ago. 

“I don’t.” Harry says, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Well I do.” Louis says, and it’s not a lie. He’s good at what he does, following rumors and stretching and compressing their whole group with his hands on the puppet strings. He’s good at it, and he likes it. “I like being with them. Does that ruin your narrative where I’m secretly a good person?” It’s snapped out and he almost regrets it, but not quite.

Harry looks at him for a long time, eyes still green, lips still pink. “No, doesn’t ruin it.”

“Cool.” Louis says, taking another piece of the muffin and trying to look as unimpressed as he can. 

“I just think you’re interesting, I want to figure you out.” Harry says, and Louis thinks he might have hurt his feelings. He’d feel bad if Harry didn’t pretend Louis was some code to be cracked. 

“I’m a person, not a puzzle,” Louis replies, raising his eyebrows in disapproval. “I don’t need figuring out.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry says, looking at the ground, at the worn leather boots on his feet.

“Can’t you afford new shoes?” Louis snaps, looking at the holes growing at Harry’s toes. He’s being mean now, but he doesn’t care, because Harry is stupid and he’s just a person, he pretends to be something more but he’s just a boy. _Don’t pretend you know who I really am,_ he thinks melodramatically, _because I don’t know either._

“I love these too much to buy new ones.” Harry says, tapping his toes together. Louis’ got all his knives out and Harry still hasn’t left and Louis isn’t quite sure why that is. “They’re my favorite.”

“They have holes.” Louis says.

“I still like them.” Harry replies, and Louis wonders if that’s a metaphor. Everything is shiny and new in rich boy world and Harry’s shoes have holes in them. Louis’ heart has holes in it too.

“Who are your friends, Harry?” Louis asks, leaning his head back against the bench so he’s looking straight up. Half of his sky is gray and half of it is the wooden ceiling of the gazebo and he wants it to snow so fucking badly.

Harry doesn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t really have any friends here.”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” Louis asks, even though he still remembers the time when no one said anything to him that wasn’t a derivative of ‘know it all.’ He hadn’t had any friends then either.

“I was just answering your question.” Harry says, and Louis can hear the hurt in his voice, creeping in like nightfall. Louis likes that he’s finally something other than pleased with himself.

“Do you want one?” Louis asks slowly, still looking up at his halved sky. Louis wants to straddle Harry’s skinny hips and press him back against the bench, to kiss him until they’re both stupid. 

“I’m not sure.” Harry answers cautiously, and Louis smiles up at the sky. He stands up with a sigh, giving Harry a calculated look.

“I’ll see you around.” He brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheek, pressing down at the pinkness so hard it leaves a streak of white. “I like your shoes.”

Harry stutters out something that’s probably supposed to be a reply and Louis walks away, his hands stuck in his pockets. Harry is infallible and gorgeous but he doesn’t put the sun in the sky.

Harry knows his game but Louis always wins. He always, always wins.

 

xx

 

“I was talking to Harry yesterday,” Zayn begins as they sit at one of the tables in Louis’ cavernous library, a piece of butcher paper between them on the table. 

Louis stiffens, pausing halfway through a fairly unkind drawing of Stan. He’s given him an alarming beard and a nose that wouldn’t be out of place on an elephant. The only thing tying the humanoid back to Stan is the carefully labeled heading above him. “Why are you talking to Harry?”

Zayn raises their eyebrows, like they see right through Louis. Most times, they do. “Am I not allowed to talk to other humans?”

Louis makes a face, drawing horns on Stan just because he’s feeling a little mean. “What did he say?”

“He asked me why you’re such an incredible ponce.” Zayn says, adding wings to a self portrait that makes Louis’ drawings look like infantile scribbling.

“He didn’t!” Louis crows, throwing his marker down to give Zayn a look. The outburst is dampened by the oriental rugs that line the floor and the books on the shelves, but Louis looks guiltily up at the elaborate pictures of knights on the walls like they’re going to pop out and guillotine him. Inside voices in the library still feels like an unbreakable law. 

“He didn’t say that.” Zayn confirms with an eyeroll. “He did ask if you hate him, which I thought was an odd thing to ask.”

“I was a little mean to him. He pissed me off. He asked about you.” Louis says, sinking further onto the table with each sentence. 

“You don’t have to be my own personal pitbull, I’m perfectly self sufficient.” Zayn says, even though they both know that Louis is never going to stop and that sometimes Zayn needs that. “I think he likes you.”

“A lot of people like me.” Louis says coolly, propping his head on his hands, and Zayn sighs. 

“Don’t pull that shit with me, please.” Zayn says. “You know they’d turn on you in a second if you stopped being convenient for them.”

Louis purses his lips. “They’re nothing without me.”

Zayn just looks at him for a while, catching his gaze and holding it. “Why don’t you trust anyone like you trust me? Why is that so hard for you?”

“You don’t have any other friends either.” Louis snips, trying to ignore the way his pulse spikes and his bones feel a little bit colder. When he was seven Zayn had come up to him on the swings and told him that his spiderman sneakers were way cool, and it’s one of the first times he can remember anyone at school giving a shit about him. He lowers his voice. “No one liked me until I was cool except for you. That’s fucking why.”

“I invited Harry to our movie night.” Zayn replies, drawing a line of flowers on the page and avoiding Louis’ eyes.

“What the fuck.” Louis sits up, giving Zayn his best baleful look. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I like him. And I think the only reason you don’t like him is that he sees through your bullshit and that scares you.” Zayn says, and Louis thinks maybe he’s underestimated them. “And it wouldn’t hurt to open up our coven once in a while.”

“He doesn’t see through my bullshit,” Louis says grumpily, reaching over to draw a heart on Zayn’s hand.

Zayn looks down at it, giving Louis a reluctant smile. “What was that for?”

“I’m sorry I’m such a douche.”

“You’re my favorite douchebag, princess.” Zayn leans over to give Louis a tiny crown on the inside of his thumb.

“I’m a king,” Louis says, sticking his tongue out.

“You can either be the princess or the little prince,” Zayn says, returning to their drawing.

“Suck a dick, your highness,” Louis replies, and Zayn just smiles.

Harry makes Louis want to throw tantrums and hide under his bed but if Zayn says he’s okay then Louis knows he has to make the effort. Selfishly, he’s almost glad for the excuse to see Harry again.

Despite everything, Louis thinks of the crown he keeps next to his bed and he still wants him. 

 

xx

 

Louis lounges in the middle of one of the daybeds that makes up Zayn’s home theatre, resting his chin on the back of his hands and grinning up at them. “What are the choices tonight?”

“I was thinking classics?” Zayn asks, rooting around in their cases of DVDs. 

“Testing him, I like it.” Louis says. “If he has shit taste in movies we burn him at the stake.”

“Absolutely not. No fires in my house.” Zayn replies. “We should poison him, it’s neater.”

“Poison who?” 

Louis looks up with a start, finding Harry standing in the doorframe, looking demure under his mop of curls. 

“Louis, if he doesn’t stay on his best behavior,” Zayn says, tapping Louis on the head with the DVDs.

“Your mom told me to come in, I hope that’s okay.” Harry says, a tentative smile on his face. He’s wearing a polo and jeans like they’re going somewhere nice, and Louis feels irritatingly underdressed in his sweats and band tee. He’d thought it would be cool and casual but he just feels like an idiot. He wonders if sneaking out to steal Zayn’s pants and a button down would be weird, and concludes that it probably is.

“Just fine. We’re just picking movies.” Zayn replies, waving a few boxes around. “Footloose, Grease, or Breakfast Club?”

“Grease! Grease! Grease!” Louis chants from the couch, clapping his hands. He pauses his yelling, turning to look at Harry. “You can sit if you’d like.”

Harry smiles when Louis speaks, his eyes brightening just a little bit, and it makes Louis’ blood rush a little faster. 

“Thanks,” Harry replies, Louis likes that he doesn’t seem so cocky anymore. Sometimes he wonders about what everyone would be like if they didn’t try so hard, if everyone acted like he acts around Zayn, like warm concentrated versions of themselves instead of watered down husks of something else. He thinks everything would either fall apart or stick together stronger. 

“Harry, what’s your vote?” Zayn asks, waving the movies around. “Warning, Louis will probably bite you if you don’t say Grease. One time a girl told him that Danny Zuko wasn’t actually that cool and the next day he told half the school she had an STD.”

“Did she have an STD?” Harry asks slowly, looking from Zayn to Louis and then back to Zayn again.

“Yes,” Louis says primly, hugging a pillow to his chest.

“Maybe,” Zayn reprimands.

“I’ll pick Grease. It’s my favorite, Beauty School Dropout is the anthem to my whole life.”

Louis gives an approving nod. “Greased lightning is Zayn and I’s song. We know the entire dance.”

“When I try out for the musical in the spring I want Frenchie, I don’t even care.” 

“They’re doing Grease for the spring musical?” Louis asks, giving Harry what he’s sure is a borderline alarming stare.

“Yep. Niall was telling me about it during Math, he’s one of the tech guys.” Harry says like he hasn’t noticed Louis’ extreme spike in interest. “He wants me to go for one of the T Birds. He says I’m not sexy enough for Danny Zuko.”

“No one at this school is worthy of Danny Zuko.” Louis says, because Danny Zuko is everything and everyone at school is tacky. Even Harry, with his angelic face and lovely curls wouldn’t feel right. “If I have to hear any of these brats sing Summer Nights I’ll scream.”

“You could try out,” Harry says, and Zayn snorts. 

“Louis is above the theatre department.” Zayn offers as Louis makes a face.

“Why are you above the theatre department?” Harry asks, genuine confusion on his face.

Louis puts his nose in the air. “It’s beneath me. Do you know who goes to those productions? Grandmothers. Only grandmothers.”

“In 7th grade he played Stewart Little and one of the tech girls spilled kool aid all over him at a dress rehearsal. He decided he was over the dramas of theatre,” Zayn explains, drawing a grin out of Harry. 

“Ok, but like, the cat girl laughed at me and called me a period because the juice was red. They are savages!” Louis protests in one long stream of anxiety, grimacing at the memory of sticky fingers and ill fitting costumes. “I had whiskers on my face and not even the cute kind.”

Harry laughs, looking gleefully at both of them. “To be fair, Danny Zuko wears leather and tight pants, I feel like that would be much less catastrophic than mouse garb.”

“You say that now and yet...” Louis shakes his head. “I’ll go see it, just so Zayn and I can judge the whole production by our impossibly high standards.”

“Or you could just go out for Danny.” Harry presses, because apparently he’s determined to break down every platform Louis has ever stood on. Harry shoves a thumb at Zayn, who’s trying to work the unnecessarily complicated DVD player. “We can make him try out for the chorus or something so we can all suffer together.”

“Yeah they’re a good singer, I’m sure they’ll get in.” Louis says in a jovial manner that falls just a little too close to nails on a chalkboard. He can sense Zayn stiffen over by the television and ignores it, because if Harry is going to be part of their coven he’s going to have to deal with this. 

Harry’s seems to have noticed the way Louis’ words have gone all pinched and doesn’t know why, and Louis hears Zayn sigh from the floor. 

“Why don’t you two go make popcorn while I figure this out?”

“I can get it,” Louis says, sliding off the couch. It’s not that he doesn’t like Harry, it’s just that Harry pisses him off. Monumentally. Harry says things and they stick little needles into Louis’ weak heart and he hates it. “One bag or two?”

“One bag, and take Harry with you,” Zayn says in their tired voice, and Louis is a little sorry, because Zayn tries to make things nice and Louis rips them apart.

“Yes your highness,” he says lightly, heading down the stairs and through the winding, cream colored halls of Zayn’s house, Harry trailing behind him. 

It’s past dinner so the grand kitchen is empty, lit a warm orange and sparkling clean. Louis digs a bag of easy pop out of the pantry and shoves it into the microwave, ignoring Harry as best he can.

“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asks after twenty seconds of listening to the microwave whirr. Louis doesn’t look at him, feeling more words about to break on his lips. “I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me. Zayn says you aren’t mad but I know you are.” He seems terribly sad about it, and Louis wonders why he doesn’t feel bad enough to stop yet. Harry takes a few steps closer and suddenly he’s in front of Louis, all wild eyes and pink cheeks. “Are you even listening?”

“Yes,” Louis replies, his hand coming off the counter to do something, maybe push Harry and maybe just grab him. 

“I’m not trying to take Zayn away from you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says quietly, eyes pleading. “But he’s the only person here who isn’t-”

“They.” Louis says sharply and Harry stops, a furrow in his brow. “When you talk about Zayn, you say they or them. You don’t say he. And if you have a problem with that then I’ll tell everyone that the reason you’re here is because your parents caught you in bed with a boy.”

Harry seems baffled, his green eyes blinking in confusion. “Why a boy?”

“Because you’ll get eaten alive.” Louis says bitterly, and tries not to think too much into that statement. He hasn’t looked down at Harry’s lips once, and he thinks that’s something of an accomplishment.

“I’ll try to remember the they thing.” Harry says quietly, rocking back on his heels. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Well now you do,” Louis says, giving Harry a smile that isn’t even supposed to be genuine.

“I still think both of you should do the musical,” Harry offers bravely, and Louis almost admires his persistence. 

“I’m not a good singer,” Louis says in one long breath. “That’s why I don’t want to try out. I’m not good.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you have to make everything difficult?” Louis asks, then pushes Harry a little bit backwards so he isn’t so damn close. He can still smell his cologne and whatever flowery shampoo Harry uses and he wants to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders and just hang there. “Can’t I just say no?”

“No.” Harry responds with a hint of his cheek from earlier. “You can’t. Because I’ll convince Zayn it’s a good idea and then h-” He seems to stop himself mentally, gears turning his head. “They’ll make you do it.”

Louis narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t like it when you play my games with me.”

“Likewise.” Harry says with a thin lipped smile. 

The microwave goes off with a ding and Louis steps around Harry to get the bag out, shaking it to hear the last few pops as they head back upstairs. 

They watch the movie with Zayn between them and when Greased Lightning plays they both yell along, and they let Harry sing the entirety of Beauty School dropout over the vocals. Somehow during Sandy’s ballad Louis promises go to try outs, mostly because Zayn looks positively giddy at the idea of Louis doing the musical. Harry knows Louis’ weak spot and he’s a little bit miffed about it, not that it changes anything. 

If Louis is Danny Zuko, Harry is a pretty shit Sandy. He’s more of a weird, preppy Betty Rizzo. Not that it changes anything.

 

xx

 

Harry

Have you been practicing?

 

Louis looks down at his phone, making a face when he realizes it’s Harry. He has been, alone in the piano room plunking out the notes until he was sure he was hitting them all, and then in Zayn’s quiet presence, trying his best not to blush.

 

Louis 

Who is this?

 

Harry

You know who it is. Have you been practicing?

 

Louis

Still don’t know who it is

 

Harry

I’ll give you a hint: curly haired, extremely charming...

 

Louis

Ha. Ha. Ha. I have been practicing

 

Harry 

(:

 

“Zayn, I really hate him,” he vocalizes, tapping his pencil on the worksheet he should be working on. Zayn looks up from their homework to give Louis a skeptical look.

“You know he could be good for you, right?” Zayn asks. “Like you do know that, right?”

“I’m fine just the way I am,” Louis says and it comes out hollow. He’s a fabulous mess and he knows that, but everything is under control and his world hasn’t ripped at the seams so he doesn’t know why he has to change. “I’m not going to fucking date him.”

“When did I bring up you dating him?” Zayn asks, pursing their lips and giving Louis a stare that cuts him to the bone. 

“Never.” Louis says quietly, something like shame burning in his gut. At some point he’s going to have to come to terms with the fact that he’s a hypocrite, that every time he sees Harry he wants to kiss him, that maybe he likes that Harry won’t let him be.

“If you’re ready to talk about your little hate-crush I’m here at all hours,” Zayn says flippantly, lying on their back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m kind of excited for the musical,” Louis replies instead, because maybe he’ll talk about the other thing someday but it’s baby steps here.

“Me too,” Zayn replies, something lighter in their voice. “I think I’m going to do crew. Maybe they’ll let me help with makeup.”

“I still think you should try out for the chorus,” Louis says. “I’ll be crushed if the Zayn and Louis Dream Duet of Greased Lightning never hits the stage.”

“We can run it after rehearsal one day,” Zayn assures him.

“Do you think I’ll make it?” Louis asks after a moment of quiet only broken by the hum of the ceiling fan. 

“Of course. And if you don’t, then we’ll go out for ice cream and get mad and stomp around.” Zayn says easily, the answer to everything always on the tip of their tongue. “Can I paint your nails?”

“Been ages since we did that,” Louis says, heaving himself up and joining Zayn at their desk. Zayn hides their nail polish and tubes of lipstick in the top drawer of their desk, candy colored secrets that are only for them. The first time Zayn had brought it up, Louis had wrinkled his nose and asked ‘isn’t that a bit girly?’ Zayn had shrugged and asked ‘what makes it girly?’

Louis hadn’t known, and so they’d painted their nails a messy red, sliding pearly pink lipstick across their lips. They’re better at it now, and they know to keep the nail polish remover in the top drawer so they don’t have to shove their hands into their pockets.

“Pink?” Louis asks, holding up the peachy bottle and giving it a shake.

Zayn smiles and the house creaks its approval, so Louis holds his fingers out and lets Zayn cover them in even coats of sparkly pink. He blows on them so they dry and hums Summer Nights under his breath and nothing seems as scary as it should.

 

xx

 

Louis wears his aviators and a scarf to try outs because maybe if he covers at least 3/4 of his face no one will know it’s him. He’s sitting at the far end of the hallway away from all of the theatre hooligans with Zayn as his side. Most of him is hoping that if he doesn’t make it, he’ll be able to pretend none of this ever happened and go back to judging others from the wings.

“I wish I didn’t care so much about this,” he grumbles, staring down the audition script like it’s committed some great wrong against him. 

Zayn laughs, their own copy on the linoleum next to them. “Channel your worries into strength.”

Louis rolls his eyes instead of answering, staring daggers at the opposite wall and mentally repeating his lines like a mantra. 

“Zayn! Louis!” He hears Harry jogging down the hallway before he deigns to look over at him. Harry is the last thing he needs added to his jangled nerves. “I thought you guys had bailed!”

“Well we’re here,” Louis says, not liking the way fear keep curling in his stomach. He can still see the smallest vestiges of sparkly pink on his nail beds and it makes him feel a little better, but not by much. 

Harry sits down across from him, his knees bumping against Louis’ feet, his body too gangly for as close as they’re sitting. “Are you nervous?”

Louis frowns at him. “Irritatingly so.”

Harry grins, reaching to tap a rhythm on Louis’ knee like that’s the sort of thing they do. Louis thinks of moving out of his reach just out of spite, but it’s not worth the way Harry’s face will fall. “You’ll both be fine, it’s not that scary, really.”

“Says you,” Louis grumps. 

“Louis is just tapping into his inner drama queen in preparation for the role,” Zayn says, tapping Louis’ head.

“Y’all need to stop touching me,” Louis says, leaning away from Zayn as Harry snatches his hand back, looking apologetic. “Danny Zuko isn’t a drama queen. He’s dramatic and he tries too hard but that’s only because he’s super into Sandy. He just wants to impress her but he doesn’t want his friends to think he’s lame so he contradicts himself and sometimes is an idiot.”

“Art imitates life,” Zayn says grandly, giving Louis a knowing look.

“Louis Tomlinson? Kylie Brighton?” calls a sprightly girl in a mustard colored sweater from the door of the theatre, and Louis heaves himself up, depositing his glasses and scarf in Zayn’s lap and giving Harry his best smile. 

“Show time,” he says, giving them two thumbs up as he tries to channel his best Danny Zuko. The thing is, he gets it, trying so hard to be cool and wanting to impress everyone but getting caught up in a sweet smile and perfect curls. Maybe they won’t get their final scene where Harry stamps out a cigarette with a high heel and Louis cleans up nice, but he knows the story by heart.

He pushes through the doors, finding the theatre director, a woman he doesn’t recognize, and a red haired girl who he can only assume is Kylie.

The director is telling them to start when they’re ready and Louis gives the girl his best smile, noticing the way her hands are shaking more than his are. He knows he can do this, he spends half of his life pretending, it’s not that much different. What’s another character?

“You ready?” He asks her, trying to ease softness into his voice, like he’s Danny already, like he cares for this girl, wants to get to know her.

She nods, giving him a smile back and he feels good about this.

“Hey, look, uh, I hope you’re not bugged about that first day of school,” he begins, earnest and bright. He shifts back, playing it cool, showing her he’s not too impressed. “I mean, couldn’t ya tell I was glad to see ya?”

She turns her nose up in the air, a stern expression settling on her face. “Well you could have been a little nicer to me in front of your friends!”

He takes her sternness and reacts, gesturing like he’s innocent. “Are you kiddin? You don’t know those guys! I mean...” She’s still ignoring him and he changes tactics, sidling closer to her and dropping his voice like he’s telling secrets not even he wants to tell. “Listen, if it was up to me, I’d never look at any other chick but you.” He tries to shake it off, cool falling back over him like a crutch. “Hey, tell ya what. We’re throwin’ a party in the park tomorrow night for Frenchy. How’d ya like to make it down there with me?”

The rest of the monologue is over in a rush and he’s stumbling back into the hallway feeling more than a little lightheaded. He’s about to stumble his way back to Harry and Zayn when Kylie stops him with a hand on his shoulder, her grin sunny.

“That was amazing!” she says, looking genuine in the fluorescent light. “You’re such a good scene partner, why haven’t you been in any of the other shows?”

Louis smiles before he can wonder if that’s the appropriately aloof response. “Just waiting for the right show, I guess.”

“Grease is my favorite. I’d love Jan, she’s hysterical.”

“Rizzo’s my favorite of the pink ladies,” Louis says. “But Jan’s funny.”

“Rizzo’s so badass,” Kylie agrees, putting her hand over her heart.

“But she’s also secretly vulnerable, that’s such an important part of her character and so many people ignore it,” Louis says, because Rizzo is a baby and he’ll protect her at all costs. 

“So true!” Kylie says, her attention suddenly diverted by a swarm of rowdy freshman. “I have to deal with that, see you later!”

He watches her hurry down the hall, yelling something at the freshman as he tries to gather himself. He’s turning to head back down the hall when Zayn’s arms loop around his shoulders and Harry appears at his left.

“How’d it go?” Zayn asks, letting themself be half dragged back to their former seat.

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, pursing his lips and sneaking a glance at Harry, who’s watching him with big eyes.

“Really good, I think.”

 

xx

 

Vocal auditions go well. Dance auditions go well. Callbacks go well and Louis feels like he’s floating through something that can’t be real because people keep coming up to him and telling him that he’s great, asking why he waited this many years to try out. He’s not stupid, he knows that some of them don’t like that he’s invaded their department and there are definitely a few people who are flat out afraid of him, but most of them just seem glad that theres another boy who can carry a tune.

They’re all at Louis’ house on the day the cast list gets posted, Zayn arriving with Harry in tow a few hours before. They’re playing a half assed game of guesstures punctuated by obsessive watch checking as the last few minutes pass.

“Five minutes.” Louis says, after successfully acting out ‘thorn in my side’ to Harry and Zayn. “I think I might just die.”

“Please don’t die,” Zayn says, leaning back against the couch and letting out a long and tired breath. “If you die you can’t get the part.”

Louis sighs, collapsing on the couch and refreshing the theatre page on his laptop even though he knows they won’t be posted yet. “You’re lucky, there aren’t auditions for crew.” He looks up at Harry who looks far too calm for his liking. “Harry, why aren’t you nervous?”

“I am nervous,” Harry replies. “Just because I’m not moaning about it doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.”

“Moaning is therapeutic,” Louis says, causing Zayn to snicker, which Louis refuses to respond to.

Harry smiles, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “You’re going to get a part, Lou. I saw you at callbacks, you were amazing.”

“Thanks.” Louis gives Harry a smile, feeling his face soften. He wants Harry to tell him nice things all the time. “I just really want Danny, but this is my first production, you know? There’s no reason for them to give it to me.”

Harry doesn’t answer for a second, fussing with the tiny paper airplane charm strung around his neck. “You talk about Danny Zuko like he’s your best friend.” Louis likes the way Harry looks on the couch, his too long limbs crumpled up and his hair a mess. He wants to crawl into his lap and button down his button up, to kiss him on the neck so they don’t have to talk.

“It’s 4:30, for anyone who is interested,” Zayn says with a hint of amusement in their voice, letting out a laugh when Louis lunges for their laptop, refreshing the screen three times before he lets out a yell of triumph.

He scrolls down, names flashing by until he finds first Harry’s, then his. 

 

T Birds

Kenickie - Nick Grimshaw

Doody - Harry Styles

Sonny - Liam Payne

Danny Zuko - Louis Tomlinson

 

xx

 

Louis is sitting next to Harry at musical rehearsal, the rehearsal score sitting heavily in his lap. He already knows most of his parts, having practiced them frantically on the piano before auditions and after, because he has to prove to everyone that he deserves this. It’s been a week and he still can’t believe he’s actually doing this, that Harry somehow convinced him into trying out. His other friends don’t even know yet, he hasn’t told them because this is his and he’s not doing it for them, for once.

The sopranos are struggling through their parts in We Go Together, muddling the words as Mrs. J plunks their parts on the keyboard. Louis is drawing stars on his booklet when Harry leans closer to him, whispering in his ear and pointing at a line of lyrics.

“What does rama lama ka dinga da dinga dong mean?”

Louis turns to look at him, trying to stifle a giggle at his seriousness. Being in the musical is making it much harder to hate him, especially when he keeps looking at Louis like he’s amazing every time he opens his mouth. “It means that Danny and Sandy are going to live happily ever after in fashionable catsuits and fabulous hair.”

Harry looks down at his script, reading another one of the lines with a twinkle in his eye. “What about dip da dip da dip doo wop da doobee do?”

Louis tries his best to look scholarly, crossing one leg over the other and pointing a finger at Harry that glances off his nose. “Well, you see, that’s definitely referring to the flying car bit.”

Harry ducks behind his hand. “Wop ba ba lu bop?”

“And a wop bam boom.” Louis confirms, dissolving into giggles. 

“Harry and Louis if you would be quiet so the girls could learn their parts that would be fantastic,” says the choir director, leveling her serious brown eyes at the two of them. 

“Sorry Mrs. J,” Harry says obediently as Louis tries his best to look saintly. He’s fairly sure having a bit of bad boy cred wouldn’t do him much harm considering his part, although giggling over lyrics with a stupid boy isn’t exactly the most badass way to get in trouble.

Harry shifts in the plastic chair next to him and Louis still wants to be his friend more than anything. It’s Zayn fault, because if they hadn’t decided to invite that curly haired menace over, Louis wouldn’t even be here, trying to soak in his warmth and smell the vanilla on his skin.

Without Harry, Louis wouldn’t have the part either, and that thrills him just as much as it pisses him off. Harry gave him a way to have something for himself, a name and a few songs to sing on a stage that mean more to him than they should. 

Harry elbows him in the side and Louis looks over to find him grinning like that’s a good enough excuse to elbow anyone. Louis rolls his eyes, looking back over at the teacher before he lets the smile settle onto his face. Harry probably sees it anyway.

 

xx

 

It’s after rehearsal and Louis is in one of the practice rooms, plunking out Alone At The Drive In Movie and trying to sing it so he doesn’t sound fucking stupid. He’s starting over one last time, taking a deep breath so he can hold the high notes long enough, when there’s a shuffling by the door and he snaps his head up. He’s expecting to find some stupid freshmen, or one of his ‘friends’ come to throw stones at his glass palace.

It’s Harry.

“Are you going to stand out there or are you going to come in?” Louis asks, playing the intro without looking up, and fighting a smile when Harry pushes the door open, looking a little sheepish.

“I was just passing by and heard you singing,” he says, biting on his lower lip and leaning against the side of the piano. 

“These rooms are soundproof.”

“Not like, completely soundproof,” Harry says, flushing a little pink around the collar of his pristine button down. He clears his throat, looking down at his feet and then back over at Louis. It’s too delightful for words. 

“So I’ve gathered,” Louis says, resting his fingers on the smooth ivories and plunking out the riff. “Do you want to sit or just stand there like a deer in headlights?”

Harry ducks his head as he crossed over to the piano bench and Louis grins soft as he sits, looking at the keys like Harry won’t see it that way.

“What are you practicing?” Harry asks, and his voice breaks in the middle and Louis laughs before he can help it. 

“Alone At The Drive In Movie,” Louis supplies, scooting over so Harry has more room on the piano bench. “It’s so hard to hold the notes for long enough without going flat.”

Harry nods, resting his elbow on the piano and pressing lightly on one of the keys so the note rings. “Will you sing it for me?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “No.”

“Please?” Harry asks, and Louis remembers that smile from the night they first met, thinks it’s probably the one he uses to get his way. Louis has one of those too.

“Do you always get what you want?” Louis asks primly, resisting the urge to poke at Harry’s hip through the fabric of his khakis.

“Usually,” Harry replies, and Louis wonders if he’s something Harry wants. It irritates him a little bit that Harry’s winning, slipping through his armor like he had the night of the party, but Louis’ getting what he wants too, in a roundabout way. He’d told Zayn that being someone’s friend is the same thing as collecting them, but he’s not entirely sure he believes that.

“Just sing, no one else has to hear,” he says more quietly, biting down on his bottom lip like nothing has mattered more to him. Louis tries not to get caught in his orbit but Harry’s just as good at all of this as he is. “It’s just me.”

The words thump in Louis’ chest like the echo of fireworks and he wants to whisper those words in Harry’s ear after he kisses him. No one has to know, it’s just me. He opens his mouth to reply and no sound comes out for a moment, until he finally manages an ‘okay.’

Harry grins and Louis starts playing the beginning, and his voice shakes when he sings the first line so he stops and crinkles up his brow.

“Don’t think so much about it, just sing how the song feels to you,” Harry says, and Louis can feel the searching green of his eyes on his skin. He thinks about the way his tan is fading back into white. He thinks about the tiara slipping off his head and resting on his pillow, how he still keeps it safe on his shelf. 

He almost asks Harry what he means, tries to play coy, but the song’s about being lonely and he can’t pretend he doesn’t know what that’s like.

He starts again, focusing on the poster on the back wall so he doesn’t have to look at Harry and spell out truths with his eyes, and then begins to sing. He trips over a word in the first verse and knows he’s gone flat somewhere in the second but by the time he’s about halfway through he’s found a pocket of something that feels right and he tries to catch it in his hands and hold it.

He sings the last note and plays the final bars and lets the room fall into silence that hangs heavy like the air is still full of the music, still buzzing even in the silence.

“You’re amazing to watch when you sing,” Harry says finally, and when Louis goes to meet his eyes he’s looking at the keys. “You move with it.”

“Thanks.” If he leaned down he could press his lips against the soft pink of Harry’s cheeks, tip his chin up and brush their mouths together. “It means a lot, actually.”

Harry shakes his hair out and plunks out a few notes on the piano, a slow smile on his face. “Sing it again?”

Louis does.

 

xx

 

Louis waves goodbye to Stan and Jesy after Saturday’s tennis match dissolves, sliding into the back seat of Zayn’s porsche. They’re playing something quiet with a beat and a melodic male vocal and the whole car smells like leather and Gucci. The familiarity is calming.

“Nice hair,” Zayn comments, looking over to give Louis an eyebrow raise on account of his freshly showered coif. “Don’t drip on my upholstery.”

“Sorry I’m like, a clean person,” Louis replies, ruffling his mop of hair up so it looks at least a little like it’s supposed to. “You house?”

Zayn shrugs, one hand on the wheel and the other tapping a rhythm on their leg. “Not really feeling it.”

“You wearing lipstick?” Louis asks, peering closer at the purple shimmer on Zayn’s mouth.

They nod, eyes on the road. It’s cloudy, and Louis pouts at the sky in the hope that the sun will peek through. “I was feeling a little masculine this morning and so I wanted to tell the universe to go fuck itself.”

“Very nice,” Louis says, setting his feet on the dash. He does it so often Zayn doesn’t even bother him about it anymore. “It looks good.”

Zayn grins, flipping on their turn signal to swing into a parking lot by an old abandoned gas station. “You cool to chat or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere to be,” Louis says, because he’s not ready to go home and Zayn’s presence is calming. He feels like he’s been strung too tight since the musical started, since Harry walked into his life, since everyone started to know his name. 

“You want to smoke?” Zayn asks, and Louis shrugs. 

“Don’t care.”

Zayn shrugs and doesn’t move, just shifts their seat back so they aren’t quite as close to the steering wheel, turning the gas off so it’s just the thrum of the radio. It’ll get cold in the car but it’s not cold yet. 

“Harry asked me about my pronouns,” Zayn says after one song fades into another. “Which was cool of him.”

“He asked you?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. He feels a weird twinge of possessiveness over Zayn and tamps it down before it can grow. 

“Yeah, he said you told him to use they and he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right, so I explained it all to him.” Zayn says, impeccably cool in a way Louis knows he never quite pulls off. “It was really awesome of him.”

“Yeah, it was,” Louis agrees lamely, flashing Zayn a look that he hopes communicates more. “I’m glad he took it well.”

“Me too,” Zayn agrees, a quiet smile on their face. “It makes me feel like other people would be cool with it too, like, not just you.” Louis feels a sick twisting in his gut at the thought of Zayn’s parents who don’t notice anything is different. He thinks about the way Zayn watches Perrie sometimes when they think no one’s watching and knows nothing is as simple as it should be.

“Other people will be cool with it. Just because high school is trash doesn’t mean everywhere is,” Louis says, because he’s holding onto Yale like a lifeline. When he gets in, when he gets out of here, always bigger and better because that’s just how things go for him. 

“True,” Zayn agrees, pausing to give Louis a look. “He also said you threatened to blackmail him with gay rumors if he gave me any shit.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, looking out at the cars flying back and forth across the pavement. “I did that.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything and Louis knows he has to explain, because it’s Zayn and they always pull Louis’ secrets out eventually. 

“It was the scariest thing I could think of at the time,” he says, and he trusts that Zayn will know what that’s suggesting. “I just want to kiss him, alright? Just sometimes I want to. That doesn’t mean I’m like-” He chokes on the words and just waves his hands around instead.

“No it doesn’t mean you’re-” Zayn waves their hands around in a mocking interpretation of Louis. “It could mean that, but I mean it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and then jerks them back open when the only thing behind them is Harry’s face. “I fucking hate this, I don’t want to feel like this around him. It’s like he’s fucking invading my brain with all his-” Louis stops again, finally spitting out “things” with as much venom as he can.

Zayn laughs, low and amused, giving Louis a fond look. “This hasn’t ever happened to you before, has it? This crush thing?”

“It’s not a crush,” Louis says, even though he thinks it might be and that scares the shit out of him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I think he likes you,” Zayn replies.

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis says, the weight in his chest collapsing his lungs and pushing his ribcage flat. 

“Sure it doesn’t.” Zayn says, rolling their eyes. “It’s not the end of the world if you want to kiss a boy you know. It’s honestly not.”

“And how do you know that?” Louis replies, and he’s being childish but he doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to deal with any of this. If he could just not want to kiss him, then it would be okay. If he didn’t want to kiss the slope of his shoulders and the tips of his fingers then he would be just fine.

“I don’t.” Zayn says. “But I have a good feeling.”

It doesn’t really change anything, because Stan will still call him a faggot and Leigh Anne will ask him if he wants to go shopping with her like he’s a robot and not a person, and Zayn’s always been better than everyone else.

 

xx

 

Louis only figures out it’s Harry’s birthday because a passel of girls decide to give him a birthday hat by his locker before first period. It’s a loud affair that involves everyone singing Happy Birthday very badly and Harry giving a smile in the center that ends up looking a little dead. Louis doesn’t think the girls notice, but he does.

He texts Zayn halfway through third period to tell him that they’re buying Harry a present for his birthday. They end up going out for lunch to get Harry a chocolate cupcake with a meticulously iced garden on top.

Louis has to give the girls hovering around Harry a particularly severe glare before they back off long enough to give Harry his gift.

“You’ve developed a harem,” he says giving the girls a look. He realizes only in hindsight that maybe it comes across as jealousy.

“I wouldn’t call them a harem,” Harry replies easily, setting his messenger bag down by where the curtains fall. “They’re sweet.”

“Are they?” Louis asks, because he knows some of those girls and they’re just about as sweet as he is. Maybe Harry is good at mistaking conniving malice for charm. This may be working in his favor.

“I like to see the best in people,” he says, giving Louis a smile that’s too genuine for his heart to take. 

“Zayn and I got you something,” Louis says, since the only reply to Harry’s statement that he can think of is ‘I don’t.’ 

“Really?” Harry’s face perks up like a child’s, and Louis wishes he found that kind of joy as easy to come by.

“Yep.” He holds out the white bakery box and Harry takes it in his too big hands, grinning when he pulls open the top. 

“Its a garden cupcake.” Harry tells him gleefully, like Louis might somehow not know. “Thankyou.”

Louis shrugs, trying to pretend that it’s nothing. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Harry says again, and Louis grins.

“You already said that.”

“Well I’m saying it again.” Harry replies, unpeeling the cupcake wrapper and taking a bite, succeeding in getting frosting all over his mouth and dotting it onto his nose. “You want a bite?”

Louis tries not to laugh at him and ends up giggling, which is probably worse. “No.”

“You sure?” Harry asks, holding the cupcake practically to Louis’ lips.

“I’m sure.” Louis replies, ducking out of the way.

The director calls rehearsal to order and Harry sticks the cupcake back in the box, smiling at Louis with frosting on his lips and Louis thinks if this were a teen movie maybe this would be the moment he’d kiss it off.

It’s not, so he goes to sit down.

 

xx

 

It’s Valentines Day so they all decide to go to the Hamptons because why the fuck not. They take Zayn’s jet and spend the ride sipping champagne and staring out the windows at the clouds. 

They’re 30,000 feet in the air when Louis takes a picture of himself and posts it with the caption ‘flying in style’ and hopes everyone feels delirious with jealous when they see it. He takes another one of Harry and Zayn just because. He doesn’t post it and he doesn’t think too hard about why he’s taking pictures that include Harry. 

“You match the sky,” Louis says, crossing his legs and pointing at Harry’s powder blue blazer. 

Harry grins, pointing back. “So do you!” 

Louis looks down at his white button down and rolls his eyes. “Zayn doesn’t match,” Louis points out, and Zayn looks down at their evergreen polo in dismay.

“I’ll never recover,” Zayn says, and they go back to watching the clouds drift underneath them.

They land on the tennis court and step out into the winter air, snow melting into Louis’ shoes and wind freezing his bare ankles. They watch the helicopter takeoff, leaving them alone in a place where summer is the only season that’s alive. 

“Kinda creepy here in the winter,” Zayn says, glancing at Louis’ estate, the pool covered and the fountain silent, a whisper of snow sticking to the expansive lawn. 

“Peaceful,” Louis says decisively, leading them up the pavers and to the porch, keying in the code so the garage door creaks up. Louis taps the hood of his summer car as he passes, the cherry red convertible he got when he was sixteen and doesn’t ever want to grow out of. 

“A little dead,” Zayn says as Louis digs the key out of his pocket. Louis rolls his eyes as he pushes the door open, the sound of their shoes on the tile loud in the silence. 

“Yeah, but we can do whatever we want,” Louis says, kicking his shoes off on the doormat and padding into the blue room, dropping his duffel bag and collapsing on the antique couch. “Happy goddamn Valentines Day.”

Zayn flops down next to him and Harry sits gingerly into one of the ornate chairs like he’s afraid it’s going to hurt him. 

“The chair doesn’t bite, Harry,” Louis teases, staring up at the cream colored ceiling and trying not too smile to hard.

“If anyone was going to have rabid man eating furniture I would guess it’d be you,” Harry replies, and Louis rolls his eyes even though man eating furniture would probably come in handy.

“This entire excursion was an elaborate scheme to have you devoured by my upholstery,” Louis says lazily, liking the way they’re the only ones filling the house. There are no maids, no cooks, just the three of them in a posh winter paradise and Louis could stay here forever.

“This isn’t as far-fetched as you seem to think,” Zayn says, a quirk of a smile on their lips. 

Harry laughs and Louis pauses a moment just to listen to the sound of it. “So have we all picked Valentines?” Louis says, and it doesn’t mean to carry any meaning but for one fleeting moment Louis wonders if maybe Harry will pick him.

“Ke$ha,” Zayn says immediately. “She’s perfect.”

“You are literally so weird,” Louis tells them, because Tik Tok isn’t life changing, no matter what Zayn says.

“I’m going to start singing and not stop,” Zayn says, unperturbed.

“Zayn has a thing for blondes,” Louis tells Harry, causing Zayn to kick him in the shin. “And now I’m being abused, figures.”

Harry giggles from where he’s splayed in the chair. “A particular blonde, or all blondes?”

Louis says ‘a particular blonde’ just as Zayn says ‘no blondes,’ which only seems to make Harry even more gleeful. 

“That’s really sweet, Zayn.” Harry says, a big, genuine smile on his face that Louis doesn’t think he could physically replicate. “What about you Louis?”

“I’m my own valentine.” Louis says brightly, and Zayn gives a badly disguised cough/laugh.

“Louis is all about romantic mystery. Did you know he’s never dated anyone?”

“Thanks Zayn, that was cool of you,” Louis says, feeling his ears pink at the tips as Harry laughs. 

“No one up to your impossibly high standards?” Harry asks.

“Clearly,” Louis replies, because he’s hooked up with a few girls and went with someone to homecoming every year but that never meant he wanted to date them. 

Zayn snorts but Louis gives Harry his sweetest smile and Harry doesn’t ask anymore questions. 

xx

 

They’ve had just enough wine that Louis feels a little warm inside, sitting on the kitchen floor with the lights dim and Zayn sterilizing a needle over a candle flame. 

“Last time we tried this, Louis chickened out because it hurt too much.” Zayn says, eyes narrowed in concentration. “I did a little flame on my ankle.”

“Any reason?” Harry asks, running his finger over the rim of the bottle they’ve all been sharing, leaning up against the cabinet. 

“You know how a phoenix rises out of the fire?” Zayn beings, pouring a few drops of india ink onto the jar lid. “It’s like that.”

“That’s sick.” Harry says. “I’ve always wanted swallows like, by my collar bones, but my parents would lose their shit.”

“Better hide this one then,” Louis says, reaching out a foot to nudge at Harry’s ankle. “And I didn’t chicken out.”

“You did,” Zayn says, blowing on the needle to cool it and wrapping it with thread.

“Well I won’t this time,” Louis say haughtily, because he’s not a baby. “Do you guys know what you want to do?”

“I was thinking like, maybe a butterfly?” Harry says uncertainly. “I can’t think of anything really good.”

“That’s not bad,” Louis says. “But you shouldn’t get it unless you really want it.”

Harry frowns, slipping off his blazer and tucking his chin onto his knees. “Do you know what you want to get?”

Louis shrugs, watching Zayn’s careful preparations. “Not yet. It’ll come to me.”

“You should do a crown,” Harry says uncertainly. “Like, on your thigh, you know?”

Louis turns to him, a slow smile curling on his face as he meets Harry’s eager green eyes. “That’s perfect. We should all do crowns.”

“You think?” Harry asks, his face lit up like he’s already agreed.

“We’re kings, remember?” Louis doesn’t know quite when that grew to include Harry but he can’t take it back. 

“I’m in,” Zayn says, sitting down. “You first, Lou?”

“Yes please.” Louis unbuttons his chinos, sliding them down his legs so he’s sitting in his briefs and not meeting Harry’s eyes. He’s undressed in front of Zayn at more sleepovers than he can count at this point, and he isn’t self conscious of his body, but with Harry everything means more.

“Point to where you want it.” Zayn says, wielding a pen and settling between Louis’ legs.

Louis gestures to a place on his left thigh, stilling when Zayn draws a neat three point crown a bit above his knee. “You sure about this?”

“Not about to start second guessing myself now.” Louis says tiredly, steeling himself for the sharp prick of the needle. Last time he’d ended up nearly crying when Zayn did a few experimental pokes, but he’s determined to get the full piece this time, because Louis doesn’t fail things twice. 

“Harry, go hold his hand.” Zayn says, examining their handiwork like a practiced surgeon. Louis is a little bit terrified, but the calm assurance that Zayn approaches everything with makes him feel a little more grounded. 

“I don’t need to hold Harry’s hand.” Louis says through gritted teeth as Harry shuffles over on his knees.

“Squeezing something helps you not focus on the pain.” Zayn says. “But whatever you want.”

Louis just pouts, watching as Zayn leans down to prick at his skin. He squeezes his eyes shut as the tip of the needle goes in, grimacing at the pinch. In retrospect, he probably should have just pretended he didn’t want to get anything when Zayn brought it up, considering that he still has a breakdown every time he has to get shots.

It starts to burn by the twentieth poke, a hot sort of numbness that makes Louis feel a little dizzy, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead.

“Doing okay?” Zayn asks, reaching up to brush Louis’ fringe off his forehead. Their voice is soft and Louis appreciates that they aren’t teasing right now, only tenderness in the low light. 

Louis nods, taking a deep breath to try and steady himself. He’s vaguely aware of Harry watching him and it makes his body feel too warm. 

“I can hold your hand, if it would help.” Harry says slowly, scooting a little closer. 

Louis lets out a sigh, wishing he wasn’t so helpless to the note of hope in Harry’s voice. He doesn’t answer, just holds out his hand and feels Harry’s wrap around it, warm and comforting. 

He tries to focus on that feeling as Zayn works, marking this moment into forever on Louis’ skin. Harry’s hands are soft in his and he has long fingers that thread through Louis’ when their hands shift, and he doesn’t let go even when Louis’ palms go slick. It seems to go on forever, the slow burn and sharp pricks and Louis thinks he might find himself suspended here forever.

Harry is still holding on when Zayn is finally done and Louis is blinking open watering eyes to look at the outline of a crown in black on his skin. “I love it,” he says, only a little embarrassed at the way his voice cracks.

Zayn gives him a smile, setting everything back on the counter and squatting back down to dab the tattoo with a wet paper towel. Louis glances at Harry’s hand and wonders how long he can pretend he’s forgotten he’s holding it, thinks it’s probably now. He means to quip ‘can I have my hand back now, Styles?’ but when he looks at Harry all his words stop before they can come out of his mouth.

Harry’s watching him with his mouth slightly open, curls fallen down into his face and something in his eyes Louis is too afraid to chase. “You’re...”

Louis just stares back, and his tattoo might hurt but all he can feel is Harry, so close and so warm. “Sorry?”

Harry reaches up, pressing the pad of his thumb underneath Louis’ eye and wiping away the drop of salty water. “You were tearing, a little.” He says, and Louis lets out an uncertain laugh since he can’t seem to remember any words.

“Wasn’t very cool of me,” Louis says, wiping his eyes with the heel of his free hand.

“I won’t tell.” Harry says, and it’s a joke but he won’t. Louis thinks he likes having pieces of Louis that no one else has. It’s scary, but Louis doesn’t mind sharing with him.

“Harry, do you want to go next?” Zayn asks, and Louis looks up to meet their eyes, finding mischief in them he’s almost come to expect. He’d almost be mad that this is most definitely one of Zayn’s evil schemes if it wasn’t working so well.

Harry nods, dropping Louis’ hand as he strips down to his boxers and Louis pretends not to look. Harry’s thighs are just as pale and stupid as the rest of him, and Louis tries not to think of the way they’d bruise under his teeth. 

Louis covers his crown with saran wrap as Zayn cleans Harry’s skin and sets up, bending Harry’s too long legs so he has the right angle. Zayn is about to start when Harry looks over at Louis, holding his hand out.

“You mind? It helps with the pain.”

Louis takes his hand, and when Harry’s squeezes he feels like his heart is being squeezed too.

 

xx

 

Louis spears a leaf of lettuce with more violence than is probably necessary, checking his phone to find yet another photo from Harry of Zayn eating in the art room. Louis gives a noncommittal grunt as Cher asks him whether or not he thinks baby blue nails would be cute, wondering if he should just give up this whole charade and sit with Harry and Zayn instead of these people. He could pretend he has a newly discovered, life threatening food allergy that requires he be quarantined while eating, or maybe like, a secret girlfriend he has to pick up every day. Both plans feel like they could collapse too easily, no matter how tempting.

“Louis, where have you been at tennis?” Leigh Anne asks, affixing him with her prying hazel eyes. “I miss my partner.” 

He sets his phone down, shrugging his shoulders like he’s above it all. “It’s a secret.”

Her eyes light up and she scoots closer, Cher looking up at his last word. “You can tell us.”

Louis mimes zipping his lips. “Can’t tell you, Babe. Then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

Both girls pout and Louis tries to look appropriately sad that he isn’t practicing with them. He does miss tennis a little, but exiting their circle is making it easier to breathe in small increments. Half the girls in theatre are scared of him and most of them are ridiculous, but they say nice things to him that don’t seem like part of an agenda.

“Will you be back by the summer?” Leigh asks, taking a sip of whatever organic juice she’s trying this week. 

“Most likely,” Louis says, even though the more he leaves the less he wants to come back. He runs his thumb over the still healing tattoo under his khakis and knows that he’s better than all of this pretending. He wants to be out of here, wants to finish everything and go to Yale where his reputation doesn’t precede him. 

He used to wear it like armor, but now he’s tired of dragging it around.

“Well good, because playing with El just isn’t the same.” She turns to Eleanor, patting her on the hand. “No offense, hon.”

Eleanor flips her hair, and her smile looks fake even to Louis. “No, I understand. When I can’t play with Cher I feel so bummed.” She brightens up her face. “Not that I don’t love playing with you!”

Louis tries not to roll his eyes at them, because all they do is tear each other apart. 

He’s taking a bite of salad when a small passel of theatre girls walk past their blanket. It’s Rebecca, who plays Sandy, and a few of the ensemble girls.

“Hey Lou,” Rebecca says as they walk past, and the other girls give quick little waves, going back to their conversation in a burble of giggles. Louis gives them a small smile before he can help it, because they’re his cast and they’ve all been lovely to him, considering everything. 

When he turns back, Leigh has wrinkled her nose, watching them with ill concealed disapproval. “Who are they? Do they even go to this school?”

Louis schools his face into calculated indifference, giving a small shrug. “Who knows. I can’t keep track of everyone who tries to talk to me.”

“Fair,” Cher says, even as Leigh looks dubious. “Remember those boys who thought they were going to ask me to homecoming?”

“Someone should have probably stopped them,” Louis says, his stomach twisting in unpleasant knots. It feels like treason somehow, and he knows somewhere that he’s a coward for not standing up for them.

Cher is laughing and he laughs too, just for the hell of it. He only has to do a few more months of this, and then it’ll just be infrequent dinner parties and luncheons every once in a while. Then he’ll be off to Yale, and everything will be okay.

 

xx

 

“I honestly can’t be out of here fast enough,” Louis says, laying down on Harry’s couch as Zayn sits on the other, Harry sprawled on his bed. “I feel so bad for you, Harry, you still have a whole year left.”

Harry makes a face and a sad noise to go with it. “It’s pretty crap, I’m not really feeling it.”

“On the bright side, you could get the lead in the musical next year,” Zayn says. “With Nick, Lou and Aiden gone you’ve got a real shot.”

Harry preens and Louis fights a giggle. “Zayn and I will jet in from our fancy schools to see you.”

Harry grins at both of them, kicking his feet in the air. “You better.”

“We’ll consider it,” Louis says, even though he knows all of this is inevitable. He isn’t sure the exact moment Harry started creeping in next to Zayn in all his good memories, but it happened and he doesn’t really want to stop it.

Harry pauses for a moment, tracing the polka dot pattern on his sheets. “My parents have actually been talking about moving to California for my senior year.”

Louis groans, tossing a pillow in Harry’s direction. “Do you have any idea how long that plane ride is? I’ll have to live in my private jet.”

“You going to be visiting me that much?” Harry asks gleefully, and Louis tries to cover his slip with a scoff.

“Of course not, just, hypothetically,” Louis says, as Zayn laughs outright. 

“A hypothetical universe where Louis and I want to see you every weekend.” Zayn says, because somehow, Harry has infiltrated their little group. He can’t remember the last time he hung out with just Zayn, and it isn’t really bothered by it. 

“Just do high school in California with me.” Harry says brightly, and Louis throws the decorate couch pillow in his direction. 

“Fat chance. I get to be hot and collegiate over here.” Louis says, leaning his top half off the side of the couch in a way that was much more comfortable in theory. 

“When exactly are you planning on getting hot?” Zayn asks. “You only have one summer left.”

“100 whole days for me to get carmel colored and even more gorgeous, thank you, Zayn.” Louis says haughtily, wishing he hadn’t already thrown his only decorative pillow projectile. 

Harry laughs and starts in on a story about the theatre girls trying to braid his hair. Louis hangs upside down off the couch and watches him, the movements of his hands and how he flicks his mop of curls off his forehead. He tries not to think about how college is leaving both of them, Harry drifting to wherever he ends up, Zayn off to go be brilliant somewhere Louis isn’t. He knows he’s starting over too, wants it more with every day that passes, but it doesn’t make any of the leaving okay.

 

xx

 

Louis gets his letter two days before he thinks he will, and when he sees it on the table, placed carefully there by his mother, he screams so loud Lottie and Fizz come running.

“I can literally hear you from my room!” Lottie says as she sticks her head in the doorway. “What is your issue?”

Louis just waves the letter at her, ripping it open with trembling fingers. It doesn’t feel like it’s really happening, like someone is going to pinch him and he’ll wake up before he can read the words. As it is, he has to read the first sentence four times before it sinks in.

_Congratulations!_

Louis pressed a hand to his mouth and lets out a strangled squeak that’s much less manly than he normally goes for.

“So did you get in?” Fizzy says, leaning against the doorframe, with a calmness Louis is nowhere close to. 

Louis nods, and he’s not crying but he feels like he might because this means everything. This means that every night he stayed up too late studying was worth it, that all that volunteer work he did was worth it, that tennis and debate and AP and Suma Cum Laude was all fucking worth it. 

His sisters squeal and he feels like squealing too, giving a few overexcited little jumps when they pile him into a hug. He barely even registers his mother appearing in the doorway until she joins them, one giant ball of family in the middle of the entryway. 

When they finally pull away in a cloud of floral perfume and congratulations, Louis digs his phone out of his pocket, trying to look unimpressed as he poses with his acceptance letter.

Lottie tries to photobomb and Louis lets her, for once, her duckface and blonde hair just in the frame. He captions it ‘What, like it’s hard?’ and posts it, flushed pink with vindictive pleasure. He only has to wait a moment before Leigh Anne comments ‘omg did you buy them a new library or something??’ Louis’ thumbs hover over the keyboard. 

‘I studied, actually,’ he comments back, hoping she can hear the way the words are supposed to cut. They all think he’s stupid, and he’s fine with that, because it makes it easier to manipulate them. Except that he’s not stupid, he never was, and the only reason he pretended to be was because he thought that would make him cool.

He’ll show them all, and then maybe they won’t whisper horrible things about him when they think he can’t hear. 

 

xx

 

Louis is sitting in the wings doing his homework as they stage the sleepover scene, waiting for the director to call the T Birds on stage. After being accepted his will to do homework has definitely taken a backseat to the musical and prom and literally anything else. Judging by the essays he was assigned on Monday, his teachers don’t seem to have gotten the message.

He’s half-assing his way through an introductory paragraph when Nick, who plays Kenickie, flops down next to him. Nick is one of the only people in the theatre department that Louis was even familiar with before Harry dragged him into Grease, and while he’s definitely a wannabe, he’s not the worst. He’s actually the only gay guy Louis is familiar with, and he should probably be nicer to him.

Louis looks up from his work, giving Nick a disparaging look, if only to keep up appearances. “Did you need something?”

“D’ya know where Harry is?” Nick asks, his long legs encroaching dangerously into Louis’ space. 

“Why would I know where Harry is?” Louis asks, tapping his pencil against his bottom lip and raising his eyebrows. He actually doesn’t know where Harry’s gone, probably to buy donuts or something equally ridiculous, but it’s disconcerting to realize that Harry has somehow worked himself onto the prestigious roster of People Louis Associates With. 

Nick rolls his eyes, and Louis almost appreciates his sass. “Probably because you’re attached at the hip.” He gives Louis a devilish little grin. “It’s adorable.”

“I’m aware I’m adorable, thank you.” Louis says, brushing it off before he can worry too much about the conclusions people draw about him and Harry. “And I don’t know where he is, what do you need?” It was supposed to come across disinterested but his curiosity and possessiveness gets ahead of him.

“I wanted to go over the Greased Lightning counts.” Nick says, like Louis’ attitude doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and even if he’s a wannabe, he’s not a complete idiot. “You could help me, if it’s not terribly below you.”

Louis stands, brushing the dust off his pants and giving Nick a smile. “I love doing charity work.”

Nick clutches his heart dramatically. “So cruel.”

Louis rolls his eyes, a genuine smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “Alright, quit playing around Grimshaw, lets start at the beginning.”

Louis is reprimanding Nick for not keeping his arm level for the finger points when Harry wanders back in with a sheet of stickers and dinner in his hand. 

“Louis, look what Gemma brought me with dinner. Stickers! How great is that?” Harry says, dropping his backpack and paper bag down next to Louis’ things. “Hey Nick.”

Nick looks like he’s trying to fight hysterical laughter. If he says anything, Louis may punch him. “Hey Harry.”

“I’m teaching Nick how to dance, he’s abysmal,” Louis says, squatting down next to Harry and examining his stickers, peeling off a shiny blue heart and sticking it on the front of his shirt. Louis feels like he’s being pulled in every direction, both wanting to pick out stickers to press to Harry’s cheeks and making sure Nick can’t get under his skin.

“That’s nice,” Harry says, picking a pink heart and sticking it on Louis’ arm. “Nick, want a sticker?”

“You two are really bizarre.” He says, sitting on the floor in a tipsy pile of too long limbs. “Can I have a yellow one?”

Harry sticks one to Nick’s shirt. “Sure thing.”

Nick ambles off a few minutes later with a few hearts stuck to his shirt, and Louis watches him go with ill-concealed irritation.

“He’s not that bad,” Harry chastises, leaning up against Louis like a cat. “He pretends to be cooler than he is.”

“I could have told you that,” Louis says, pursing his lips. “It was just weird being around both of you.”

“Why?” Harry asks, digging around in his bag and pulling out an apple slice.

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, watching the girls on stage and trying to answer so it doesn’t sound too weird. It’s the liking boys thing, but it’s more than that too, because Harry softens him and other people aren’t allowed to see that. “I act differently around you.”

Harry grins up at him. “I know, I like it.”

“But I don’t want other people to see it,” Louis says, and it sounds stupid even as he says it. “It’s not... it’s not for them, you know?”

Harry just stares at him, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I get that, I think. It’s how like you act differently with Zayn than you do around your other friends.”

Louis nods, trying to figure out how to breathe again, because it’s not like with Zayn. “It’s different with you,” Louis mumbles even though it’s stupid, scooping his homework into his lap and pretending to do it. He can’t concentrate for the rest of rehearsal. 

xx

 

Zayn calls him at 10:30 on a school night, just as he’s starting his homework after hours of rehearsal.

“Mom and Dad said they won’t pay for art school,” they say, and Louis can hear the tremble in their voice. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You can still make videos at UMass.” Louis says, scrubbing a hand through his hair and blinking himself awake. He knows how their parents are, that nothing really matters to them other than keeping up the family name. “It’ll be okay, babe.”

“It’s so stupid, it’s like, I got in and it doesn’t even matter to them,” Zayn replies, all frustration and rushed words. 

“You can always transfer out after your first year, you aren’t stuck there forever.” Louis says, tracing over the fading crown tattoo and trying to be rational. He has to retrace it, make it strong and black again. “It’s crap though, really is.”

“I don’t know why I thought they’d let me go,” Zayn says quietly. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot for thinking they’d let you go,” Louis says, wishing he could wrap his arms around Zayn’s chest and squeeze all the bad thoughts out of them. “It would have been awesome and it doesn’t mean you’ll never end up there.”

“They have the money to send me there, I don’t know what they think, like maybe if they make me go to a state school I’ll want to major in business instead of film?” Zayn replies, somber and quiet over the phoneline. 

“Parents have a lovely way of deluding themselves.” Louis replies, pushing on the crown so his skin goes white. His tan is gone, and he’s pale in the light of his desk lamp. “It’s going to be okay, Zayney.”

“I know,” there’s a pause, and Louis wonders if they’re smoking again. They quit just after sophomore year but old habits always cling to shirt sleeves and slink back in. “I got a bunch in merit aid but it’s still not enough for me to pay for by myself.”

“You’d do that? Try to like, work so you could go?” Louis asks, because the thought makes his throat close up. 

“No,” Zayn replies with a sigh. “But I thought about it.”

“Shit, Zayn.” Louis says, wondering why everything is so stupid. Louis likes a boy and Zayn can’t go to art school. Stupid. “It’ll be alright. Just because they’re making you go to U Mass, doesn’t mean you can’t do art. Minor in it if you fucking have to, they can’t stop you from making awesome shit.”

“I wish I didn’t care this much.” 

“That’s not true,” Louis replies, because art has always been the way Zayn pours out everything inside them, onto paper and the back of Louis’ hands and in the animated films they made in secret for years before they got the courage to show Louis.

“No, not really.” Zayn replies, and Louis doesn’t know what to say back so they just stay on the line for a while, Louis doing homework and Zayn listening to his breathing.

 

xx

 

“I want to dye my hair,” Zayn says from the computer, turning the screen to show Harry and Louis a boy with an ice blue quiff. “Wouldn’t that be sick?”

“I think you should go aqua, it would look cool against your skin tone,” Louis says, looking up from the issue of Teen Vogue he’d found in the foyer and decided not to put down. “Give menswear a shot of English eccentric cool with bold plaids, striped scarves, and dandy caps.” Louis reads. “Do you think I could pull of plaid pants?”

Harry says “definitely” just as Zayn says “absolutely not” which Louis considers a draw and definitely something to look into.

“I hate the dress code,” Zayn says, running their fingers through jet black hair. “I want cool hair.”

“And I want to wear plaid pants. It’s truly a tragic and fucked up world,” Louis sympathizes, leaning over to pat Zayn on the knee. “Speaking of, I still have to get my tux for prom.” Louis falls prostrate on the ground, throwing his arm over his face. “And a date, I need to ask someone, shit.”

“You always find someone suitable. Leigh is single, isn’t she?” Zayn replies, barely looking up from their laptop. 

“She’s been pissing me off,” Louis replies, skimming an article on eyeshadow. “Maybe Cher?”

“Careful, she might actually try to kiss you,” Zayn replies, and Louis pointedly doesn’t try to see Harry’s reaction.

“She knows it’s just friends,” Louis replies, and he wishes he had the heart to pretend that he doesn’t care if Cher kisses him, but he does, because there’s only one person he wants to kiss. 

“Of course she does,” Zayn replies with an eyeroll.

“Are you going to ask Perrie then?” Louis spars, because it’s fucking sensitive and Zayn knows that. 

“Maybe I will,” Zayn replies, and Louis scoffs. 

“You should!” Harry says beatifically, grinning at Zayn like he hasn’t noticed Louis being ornery. To be fair, ornery is pretty much Louis’ natural state. In middle school, Zayn would call him porcupine and puffer fish respectively.

“Not in a million years,” Zayn replies. “Under no circumstances.”

“Zaaaaayn,” Harry whines. “What if she secretly thinks you’re cute but is too afraid to say anything because of your bad boy persona.”

“Harry has a point,” Louis concedes. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. It’s senior year, the worst thing that happens is she says no and then we all graduate and you never have to see her again.”

Zayn lets out a groan. “Harry, let it be said that I never would have invited you into this friend group if I knew you two would tag team me.”

Louis gives Harry a grin and a thumbs up which Harry returns gleefully. Louis feels a little bit better about the fact that even though his untouchable facade melts around Harry, Harry’s isn’t anywhere to be found either. 

“Stop communicating nonverbally,” Zayn mumbles into the blanket. “I can hear you smiling.”

“So will you ask her?” Louis pesters, because if Zayn is going to make him push his boundaries, Louis is going to make them push theirs.

“Maybe.”

Louis just grins, because that means he’s already won.

 

xx

 

It’s four days later when Zayn comes to school with a bundle of white roses that Louis steals and pretends are for him, and then uses to propose to Harry, who gleefully accepts. 

“Could you two stop being stupid?” Zayn grumbles, stealing the bouquet back from Louis’ eager hands and examining the petals. “I don’t want the flowers to be messed up before I even give them to her.”

“I was being careful,” Louis replies, making a face and falling into step at Zayn’s side. “Don’t worry so much, she’d be mad not to go with you.”

Zayn laughs, but it sounds more panicked than anything. “I feel like I’m going to pass out a little bit.”

Harry gives one of his worried pouts. “She’ll say yes, I know it.”

Zayn lets out a long breath, leaning up against their locker. They give a precursory glance around the hallway before leaning in like they’re about to impart a secret. “She’ll never be seriously interested in me, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. If things get serious I have to like-” They pause, looking down at the flowers in distress. “Come out to her or something.”

“And she’ll probably be cool with it,” Louis says, resisting the urge to mess up Zayn’s quiff in a rush of affection. Messing up Zayn’s quiff is probably not the added stress they need right now. 

“I’m not going to kid myself.” Zayn looks up at him, and their expression makes Louis want to crawl out of his skin for reasons he can’t really explain. “Please don’t out me.”

“What?” Louis asks, furrowing his brow even though he’s pretty sure he knows what Zayn is talking about.

“Don’t out me to her, not until I’m ready.” Zayn repeats, and Louis feels guilt white hot on his skin.

“I won’t,” Louis says, even though he wants to say ‘why would I do that.’ He’s done it, because he never really thinks hard enough about how things affect other people. “I just want you to feel like you don’t have to hide.”

Harry has gone quiet beside them, and Louis wants to cover his ears because he outed Zayn to Harry too. 

“I know,” Zayn shakes their head like they’re clearing it. “Just let me do it on my own time. It’s not your job.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wouldn’t do that on purpose.” Louis says quietly, because that’s the best he has. ‘I’m sorry’ always sticks in his throat.

“I know.” Zayn gives him a quiet smile. “I think I’m going to ask her now. She always stands by El near the gym. If I’m going to make a fool of myself better do it in front of all her friends.”

“Good luck!” Louis says, and Harry echoes it, leaving both of them standing at Louis’ locker to watch Zayn leave. 

“She’s be crazy not to say yes,” Harry says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“It’s a valid fear,” Louis says, feeling shame and nerves flutter in his bones. “These people are monsters.”

“I was cool with it,” Harry says with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t totally get it, but I like being feminine sometimes, it’s fun.”

Louis shakes his head, looking at the ground. “Yeah but like, it’s who Zayn is. We can paint our nails and put on a skirt and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It means stuff to them, and if people disrespect that then they’re disrespecting Zayn.”

He still remembers back when he accepted it as a phase, a secret game they played where Zayn used different pronouns and painted Louis’ nails, and it was only later that he started to realize it was more than that. He still doesn’t grasp all of it, and isn’t sure he ever will.

“You outed them to me though,” Harry says, and Louis tries not to flinch. 

“That’s because I’m a shitty friend,” Louis replies, combing his hands through his fringe. He’s thinking about quiffing it up, thinks it makes him look too young this way. 

“You aren’t a shitty friend,” Harry coaxes, giving Louis a soft look that Louis isn’t sure he deserves. He’s a shitty person, he just tries to cover it with snark and pretends it’s cute, that he likes it. He doesn’t really like it anymore, but doesn’t really know how to stop. “You aren’t as crap as you pretend to be.”

Louis doesn’t answer, because he isn’t sure what’s pretend and what’s real anymore. He loves Harry, but he has a growing suspicion that he thinks the real Louis is the soft one and that all the scheming and lying is some fake Louis. Maybe it’s all an act, and maybe none of it is.

“So are you going to ask Cher?” Harry asks, voice careful like he’s trying to draw Louis out of the hole he’s sinking into.

“Yeah, probably tomorrow. I ordered a cookie cake and a whole bunch of balloons, it should be good,” Louis says absently.

“No clever puns?” Harry asks, leaning against the lockers with a mischievous smile. “I think you should dress up in a gorilla suit and be like ‘i’d go bananas if you went to prom with me’” 

“That might be the worst idea I’ve heard in a long time,” Louis replies, fighting a smile. “You should do it, who are you asking anyway?”

Harry shrugs. “What if I asked you?”

Louis just stares at him, and isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to laugh. He goes for a smile, trying to brush it off. “Then I’d tell you that I already have a date.”

“But you haven’t asked her,” Harry replies, and Louis thinks maybe he isn’t kidding, and has no fucking clue what to do with that.

“I already ordered the cookie cake, what am I supposed to do with a cookie cake that says Prom?” Louis blusters, because he wants to go with Harry more than anything, but that would mean taking pictures together and matching and maybe even slow dancing with him and that means people knowing.

“So you’d say no?” Harry asks, and there’s something in his eyes that looks an awful lot like hurt. 

“I mean I-” Louis begins, and he doesn’t have a strategy for this, doesn’t have a way to explain all the reasons why he can’t do this without making it obvious that he likes Harry as more than a friend. He knows Harry wouldn’t accept any of his stupid excuses, and he doesn’t know how long he could hold up his barriers. 

“She said yes!” Zayn tackles them both in a group hug that saves Louis from having to stumble through an answer. “She like, smiled and giggled and took the flowers and then said sure, and then she gave me her number and so I can text her!”

Louis smacks a kiss to Zayn’s cheek, using their happiness as an excuse to mess up their hair with the other hand. He loves seeing Zayn like this, lit up and bright and careless. “What did we tell you?”

Zayn sinks back onto their heels. “I just can’t believe it. I’m so excited now, it’s going to be amazing.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Louis says, noticing suddenly how quiet Harry has been, only murmuring a congratulations to Zayn. When he looks up, Harry is watching him like he’s something foreign and perplexing, and Louis feels his cheeks heat.

It’s not Harry’s place to judge him or any of his decisions, he’s not the one who’s careful not to let their wrists hang limp, who laughs instead of giggles, who tried to do football freshman year because they thought it’d make them seem manlier somehow. If Harry went to prom with a guy, it’d be probably a funny joke, and everyone would think it was hilarious. If Louis went, they’d call him a faggot. They probably already do.

Louis looks away, and Harry doesn’t ask him again.

 

xx

 

“Zayn, why is retail therapy so real?” Louis asks, chewing on the end of his aviators and sifting through a pile of neatly pressed shirts. 

“Because material goods are our only solace in this sad and lonely world?” Zayn replies, running a hand over a cashmere sweater. “I love cashmere. I’m going to get married in a suit made entirely of cashmere. With cashmere heels.”

“That would be so tacky, Zayn.” Louis replies. “Do I need more button downs?” He throws one into his bag. “Probably.”

“Nothing cashmere could ever be tacky,” Zayn replies dreamily, trailing after Louis on the way to the fitting rooms. “Model everything you try on.” They say, sitting down on one of the velour couches as a saleswoman fusses over Louis.

“Fine,” Louis replies, slipping into a fitting room and trying on a scarlet blazer over a crisp white button down with a fun collar. He comes out once he’s done, doing a slow turn to Zayn’s lazy applause.

“Doesn’t Harry have a blazer like that?” Zayn asks, crossing their legs and giving Louis a skeptical glance.

Louis grimaces, pulling at the edges. “Maybe? Isn’t his like, blue?”

“So you’ll just coordinate then, not match?” Zayn asks, and if they keep looking smug Louis is going to hit them with his shopping bags. 

“Shut the fuck up, Zayn,” Louis replies, looking himself over in the three way mirror. Louis sneaks a glance back at them, and is irritated and unsurprised by the lack of reaction to his outburst.

“Are you okay with this whole moving to California thing?” Zayn asks, tapping their loafer on the hardwood floor. Louis can see a flash of sparkly pink socks and tries to tamp down a rush of fondness.

“Of course I’m fine with it,” Louis replies, throwing the coat onto a chair in a rush of irritation. It looks exactly like Harry’s stupid blazer, he’s a fucking idiot. He darts back into the fitting room, unbuttoning his shirt as he talks. “I can still visit him and this way I don’t have to be in his space all the time.”

“If you don’t want to be in his space, you’re doing a pretty poor job of demonstrating that,” Zayn replies, and Louis can hear the exasperation in their tone.

“Exactly,” Louis replies, shucking off his shoes and trying to wedge himself into a pair of too tight khakis. “I can like, stay away from him if he’s in California. Which is a fucking problem for me, apparently.”

“Stop swearing in the store,” Zayn replies, their tone going softer. “You are so prickly about him, it’s almost cute.”

“Not cute. Horrible.” Louis says, coming out in the too tight khakis and grimacing when Zayn gives a wolf whistle. “I’m fine with the California thing, it’s the Harry thing that’s the problem.” Louis pauses, and almost ducks behind the curtain so Zayn can’t see his inevitable blush. “He asked me to prom. Or like, insinuated that he wanted to.”

“And you said something stupid?” Zayn fills in, and Louis would be more offended if it wasn’t true.

“Kinda,” Louis replies, tugging at the pants and sighing deep from inside his ribcage. “I don’t want to go with him.”

“Let’s pretend that’s true...” Zayn prompts.

“Prom is for other people,” Louis replies, because it’s a performance and show and dressing up so everyone can see how rich and good looking you are. There’s an unspoken part that comes after that. _Harry is for me._

“It doesn’t have to be about other people,” Zayn replies, and Louis ignores them to try on another pair of pants. “For someone who finds himself so vain and selfish, you make a lot of things about pleasing other people.”

“That’s harsh.” Louis says, doing up the buttons. The thing about insults is that he’s already heard most of them, that every time someone says something shitty about him it stings but the only thing he wants to do is scream back that he knows, he fucking already knows. “You’re so mean to me.”

“I didn’t say you were vain and selfish, I said that you think you are,” Zayn replies. “Wanting something for yourself doesn’t make you selfish and horrible.”

Louis doesn’t answer, because he wants everything. He wants freedom and Harry and to do whatever he wants but he wants power and he wants love too. He isn’t allowed to have all of them.

 

xx

 

The weeks before prom pass in a blur of rehearsals and boys asking girls. Zayn commits to University Of Massachusetts and tries their best to be positive about it. Cher says yes to Louis and they agree to wear burgundy because it’s the best color for both of them.

The night of Prom they take pictures in Louis’ gazebo and then pile onto the Yacht that’s meant to sail them around while they eat expensive seafood and dance to crappy music. Zayn shows up in eyeliner, gloss, and a pearly white shadow to match their tux and when Louis finally gets a moment alone with them, they reveal that when they’d suggested maybe wearing mascara to prom, Perrie had offered to do all of their makeup. Louis decides he approves of her and makes a point to be sweet to her the whole night. 

He dances with Cher, then dances with the rest of the girls and they all go into the photobooth and make silly faces at each other because it’s prom. He and Stan take off their button downs and dance in their vests and bow ties, Louis’ suspenders falling off his shoulders.

He doesn’t quite know how he ended up standing next to Harry drinking a Shirley Temple, but he thinks it’s quite a nice place to be. “Enjoying yourself?” He asks, slipping the strap of his suspender back up where it should be, taking a sip of his drink.

“How’d you lose your shirt?” Harry asks, looking more than a little amused. “Channelling Chippendales?”

“Stan started it,” Louis says, fiddling with his bow tie and feeling suddenly aware of how little clothing he’s wearing. It’s not like the other boys don’t look equally ridiculous, but most of them had opted for vests and not suspenders. “Oops.”

“Indeed,” Harry replies, leaning up against the wall. 

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Louis asks, leaning into his warmth. He never ended up asking anyone, and Louis tries not to attribute any meaning to that.

“I’m taking a break for a while,” Harry says, and Louis notices how messed up his hair is, wonders if someone ran their hands through it. It washes him in unfounded jealousy and he wishes he felt a little more clear headed. He’d only had a few gulps from the flask Cher had snuck in but Harry makes him a lightweight. Maybe he’s just making excuses for how much he wants to press their bodies together. “Why aren’t you dancing with your date?”

“She can dance with other people,” Louis says. “Just friends, remember?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, and Louis wants him to smile. “Of course.”

“Do you want to take pictures in the photo booth?” Louis asks, sets down his drink and reaches out to grab the sleeve of Harry’s shirt, tugging him somewhere. That direction might be closer, it’s hot and dark and he just wants so much.

“Just us?” Harry asks uncertainly.

“Well do you want to bring anyone else?” Louis asks accusingly, leading Harry to the photobooth and tumbling them both inside.

“No,” Harry replies, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Louis gets distracted by the muscles in his forearms and thinks maybe he’s in too deep right now.

“Well, good,” Louis replies, staring at their reflections in the mirror. They both look debauched; pink cheeks and messy hair, shiny with sweat and too close in the tiny frame. “What should we do?”

“Smile?” Harry replies, something tentative in his words. Louis is pretty sure Harry has no idea how much he likes him, and it’s taking all of his power to keep it that way. 

“Good plan, curly,” Louis says, just as the countdown to the first picture starts. They’re both grinning as the flash goes off, Louis’ arm slung around Harry’s shoulders. In the second, Louis reaches for Harry’s cheeks to try and pull his mouth into a bigger smile. The camera flashes just as Harry laughs. In the third, Harry is trying to push Louis off, and it catches them playfighting. The last one is a shot of Louis smashing a kiss to Harry’s cheek in an effort to win. 

“Hang it on your wall,” Louis says after the photos print out, handing Harry a strip as he leads them back to their table, tucking the photos in the pocket of his jacket. He’s careful not to crinkle them, although he tries to be debonair about it.

“I will,” Harry says, even though Louis didn’t really think he’d agree. Louis thinks maybe he’ll put his up too, add him and Harry grinning in suits to the wall with his calendar and prints of him and Zayn. He used to have other pictures of his friends up, but they only made him sad so he took them down. 

He’s drinking out of someone else’s water glass when a slow song pumps through the speakers, and Louis sets the drink down slowly, trying on a sunny smile. “Well, probably should find Cher,” he says, even though he can see her with her arms wrapped around some football guy’s shoulders and he honestly doesn’t care.

“Dance with me,” Harry says, and when Louis catches his eye neither of them can figure out if he’s joking. Louis thinks maybe he never is.

Louis laughs uncertainly, looking at his shoes and then back up at Harry who seems to wish he hadn’t said anything. “I- uh-” He bites his lip, because he wants to, because maybe it’s dark enough that no one will notice them. He waves his hands around like he does when he’s feeling lost, finally settling on the only concrete thing he can manage. “Harry, it’s the fucking Jonas Brothers.”

“You don’t want to dance with me to the Jonas Brothers?” Harry asks, and Louis realizes with terrible finality that he most definitely does. He glances at the dance-floor, finding only couples tangled up in each other and girls swaying in big circles and hopes that if he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck no one will see.

Louis doesn’t answer, just steps a little bit closer, placing his hands tentatively on Harry’s shoulders, linking his fingers behind his neck. He’s so warm and Louis can smell his cologne, almost too heady in the low light. “Of course I do,” he manages finally, and his voice sounds rougher than he wants it to.

Harry doesn’t answer, just sets his hands gently on Louis’ waist, his thumbs skimming the bare skin of Louis’ hips. Louis tries not to shiver, wondering at what point ‘When You Look Me In The Eyes’ started to sound poignant and beautiful. He thinks maybe this is awkward, the both of them swaying between two empty tables, just a little bit too far away for it to be intimate, too close for it to be a joke. 

He’s looking over Harry’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to catch his gaze, and if this was supposed to be funny it’s not anymore, because he can feel Harry’s breath against his cheek and his hands against his skin and he wants to be pressed against every inch of him. 

“You’re like...” Harry whispers. “Really tense? I don’t want to like, make you uncomfortable. I thought this would be okay,” Louis can feel the heat radiating from his blush, and pulls back to catch the insecurity in his eyes. Harry looks sad and Louis doesn’t want him to be.

Louis shakes his head, falling into Harry’s arms and hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. It’s too warm and he can feel the buttons of Harry’s shirt against his chest but he’s tired of so much wanting and so little having. This is for him. They can have everything else but this, right here, is for him.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just holds Louis tighter, his hands coming to rest at the small of his back. Louis breathes in deep and Harry doesn’t let go as the song builds. All the lyrics ring too true in Louis’ ears. 

They sway just off the dance floor in their own bubble and Louis can’t hear any of his fears from here. 

“Lou?” Harry asks quietly, and Louis shakes his head.

“Shut up,” he replies, but it’s quiet. It’s a plea to just let this be, not to ruin it with words and questions and anything other than their closeness. Louis breathes so evenly and he memorizes; closes his eyes and indexes the curve of Harry’s shoulder and the feel of his fingers pricking goosebumps on Louis’ back.

Louis feels something in his chest he can’t pinpoint, something fragile and small, worn and pockmarked with holes that let all the cold air in. Every time Harry breathes he can feel it’s eager pulse, like it’s trying to sync up. 

The song is ending and Louis knows what he’ll do when it’s over, grin at Harry and exit like it didn’t matter to him. He can feel himself replaying this moment already, can feel the memory sticking forever in a hazy warmth. He’ll forget the way Harry smells but he’d know it in a moment if it passed him in the grocery store, and he’d pause, frozen with his hand on the handle of his cart, tasting Shirley Temples in the back of his throat. 

He’ll look around frantically, trying to wrap his arms around something that was never solid anyway, and then it’ll pass.

 

xx

 

Louis doesn’t have a completely solid memory of the afterparty. 

Harry is definitely there but every time he enters a room Louis slips out of it. He doesn’t really know why and by the second hour Harry is definitely too drunk to incriminate him. 

There’s a moment where he’s sitting on Perrie’ lap, trying to tell Zayn about the slowdance without making it into more than it is. Zayn, who is much less drunk than he is, and Perrie, who is just about as drunk as he is, pet Louis’ hair and tell him it’s probably okay. 

Louis definitely kisses Cher and that’s ok, and he thinks she might be about to take it farther when she presses another kiss to his cheek and then snuggles into his chest instead. He thinks he might have spent a good portion of the party sipping a fruity drink and tapping rhythms on the bare skin of her shoulder.

There are other things, possibly beer pong, possibly dancing, but all he really knows it that he woke up on the floor of his room in his pants and a jacket that isn’t his wrapped around his shoulders. Closer examination of the pockets reveal a caramel, a receipt for a donut, and a school ID that belongs to Harry.

Louis goes to the bathroom and throws up.

 

xx

 

“I’m a little bit miffed actually, it was a nice jacket, matched the pants great,” Harry says, as they close the distance between Harry’s car and the starbucks. Zayn is trailing behind them, stuck to their phone, and Louis grabs onto their arm and tugs them along so they don’t get hit by a car.

“It was just gone when you went to find it?” Louis asks, shivering in the April chill. Louis isn’t wearing his coat even though it’s really not warm enough yet, because sometimes he deludes himself into thinking the weather revolves around him.

“Yeah, I left it on a chair and when I came back it was missing,” Harry replies, a crinkled look of confusion on his face. Louis tries to ignore the staccato beating of his heart as he nods and pretends the jacket in question isn’t stuffed at the bottom of his closet. He doesn’t even know why he took it, why drunk Louis decided he needed a souvenir in the form of Harry’s coat. 

“I didn’t have my jacket when I got home either,” Louis says, which is true but not because of the same reason as Harry. “Maybe there was a jacket thief at the party.”

“What good is the jacket without the pants?” Harry asks with a frown as Louis orders a venti vanilla macchiato, dark roast coffee for Zayn, and a hot chocolate for Harry.

“My treat,” he says, sliding his card over the table and turning back to poke Zayn. “Hey lovesick, got your coffee.”

Zayn flashes a smile, the bags under their eyes evident in the warm light. “Thanks.”

“Zayn stayed up until 2:30AM texting miss Edwards and is somehow surprised by how tired they are,” Louis explains to Harry, sliding his card back into his wallet and walking over to the other side of the counter. It’s dark outside but it’s warm and golden in the shop, and Louis wants to sit in here forever and refuse the rest of senior year.

“That’s really cute,” Harry says, dimpling up as Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Lovesick fools,” Louis replies, leaning on the counter and shifting his fringe out of his eyes. He hasn’t talked to Harry about the slow dance, and is really hoping he won’t have to, because the memory is perfect and horrible and he can’t explain any of it. 

“I showed her the animation I did of the little wolf boy and she said I was inspiring.” Zayn says, resurfacing from their phone to set their chin on Harry’s shoulder. 

Louis gives a fond eye roll as Harry claps and tells Zayn that it’s fantastic. Louis can feel trepidation pooling in his gut because nothing ever goes this well and he can’t stop expecting the implosion. Hell week is about to begin and the queue to queue rehearsal is on saturday and Harry still hasn’t stopped looking at him with that bright eyed hopefulness. If he can make it through this fog of sleep deprivation without kissing him it’s going to be a miracle.

“Imagine not being tired.” Louis says, picking up his drink and humming at the warmth of the cardboard. He sips it too fast and doesn’t really mind when it singes his mouth. 

“It’s a myth,” Zayn says, because apparently love turns them into an insomniac.

“After the musical is over i’m sleeping for 4 days,” Harry says serenely, flopping into one of the big chairs. 

“Maybe five.” Louis replies, taking a long sip of sweet coffee goodness. Louis bends down to dig notecards out of his backpack, grimacing as he looks at them. He feels like he’s drowning a little bit, everything piling up on him and swallowing him up. He’s terrified all his friends will find out he’s in the musical, he’s terrified Harry will talk him into admitting his feelings, and he’s terrified that he isn’t ever going to be good enough, that he’ll get on stage and everything will crash down around him.

He doesn’t think he should be left alone with his thoughts because they always loop back here, to this place where he’s fragile and lonely, and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. He’s spent four years ruining other people so he wouldn’t have to think like that, so he could be the best, so they would all like him and kiss him and tell him he was cool.

“Hey.” The voice is soft and it’s accompanied by a hand brushing his. He looks up to meet first Zayn’s eyes and then Harry’s, soft and confused.

Louis shakes himself out of it, not bothering with a smile. “I’m okay.”

Zayn smiles, patting him quickly on the shoulder and settling back down in their chair with their english book. “Good.”

He’s fragile but he isn’t as lonely as he could be.

 

xx

 

The rehearsal takes hours and it’s marked by brief periods of panic and long stretches of boredom. Louis can’t seem to get into a good place with his acting and Sandy is nursing a hangover. By the time it’s over, Louis falls into Harry’s passenger seat and turns the heat up all the way even though it’s above freezing. 

“That went okay,” Harry says, taking the roads slow in the afternoon light. Louis heaves a sigh and turns the volume on Harry’s indie bullshit CD. 

“It went fine, everyone is just tired. I’m so tired,” Louis adds, as they pull into Harry’s neighborhood. They’d been planning to chill after rehearsal but Louis feels like curling up somewhere and not moving until absolutely necessary. He loves the musical, he loves being Danny and being in a place where no one is trying to find him out, but rehearsing until 9 every night is starting to make him feel less than real.

“I can drive you home if you’d rather,” Harry says, sneaking a concerned look at him. Louis thinks this is probably the time when he pulls it together for a snarky comment, something about how he’s perfectly fine thanks, coupled with a sharp little smile. For anyone else, he probably would. He just curls into Harry’s passenger seat with a little shrug.

“It’s been ages since we did anything other than rehearsal or homework,” he replies, eyes on the brown and melting snow. It’s nearly gone but not entirely, the last vestiges hanging on filthy curbs. Zayn is leaving Perrie’s to come watch a movie and eat pizza with them, and he isn’t about to miss something as important as that.

Harry’s house is warm and his mom greets them with smiles as they traipse down into the basement, and Louis collapses on Harry’s enormous couch when he has the chance. 

Harry crouches by his DVD cabinet, reading off titles. “Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“No,” Louis says, because he watched it so many times as a kid he could probably quote it in his sleep.

“Freaky Friday?”

“Absolutely not.”

“The Notebook?”

“No.”

“Are you asleep?”

“No.” Louis rolls toward the back of the couch, burying his face in the buttery leather. “Is it weird if I nap?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but Louis hears the cabinet doors shut and the sound of Harry walking around on the carpet. The lights dim and suddenly he’s at Louis’ shoulder.

“Budge over,” Harry says quietly.

“I’m budged,” Louis replies, plastering himself to the back of the couch. Somehow, he’s surprised to feel both the drape of a blanket over his shoulders and the warmth of Harry’s body laying down beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Harry replies, and Louis feels suddenly too awake for all of this, because Harry is behind him and they’re going to sleep together. In the dimly lit basement, it’s the most intimate thing he can think of. 

Louis struggles to get his breath back, relaxing in the cushions. “Okay,” he says finally, pulling the blanket around him and feeling all the places Harry’s body knocks against his.

Harry doesn’t respond, and in time, Louis slips into a dreamless sleep, Harry breathing lightly on his neck. Zayn finds them like that when they arrive about an hour later, and grabs their own blanket, texting from the couch and watching over them until the pizza arrives a few hours later.

 

xx

 

They’re spread out in Leigh’s basement, drinking expensive wine and tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths, and Louis is wondering how long he has to stay and pretend to have fun before he can go home and catch up on sleep.

Leigh leans over to him, passing the bottle and narrowing her eyes in a way that scares him. “I heard an interesting rumor about you,” she says, and Louis’ entire body goes cold. 

He tries to smile, or at least play it cool, praying she doesn’t have anything on him. There are all sorts of rumors, some true and some far from it, but he didn’t used to have so much to hide. “Do tell,” he says, taking a swig from the bottle with a grimace.

“I heard you’re acting in the musical,” she says triumphantly, and all Louis can feel is pins and needles of relief because it’s not about Harry. He just wants it to be summer, wants to leave this stupid place and for Harry to move to California. He can survive that way, if he can text him but not have to touch him.

“Where’d you hear that?” Louis asks, swirling the wine around in the bottle. It’s crap, but he’s honestly surprised it took them this long to find out. 

“Nick was talking about it,” she replies, smiling so it feels like a threat. “Were you going to make it a surprise?”

Louis blinks at her, and the urge to be rude is sharp on the tip of his tongue. “I just didn’t think you guys would be interested.” He takes a swig, wishing it was courage. His fingers are shaking and he hates being afraid. “I mean, I didn’t do it for you anyway.”

Leigh curls her lip, and Louis realizes the whole group is listening. “Can’t think of any reason you’d get involved with that. Theatre is a little tacky, isn’t it?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that at all,” Louis replies, and thinks briefly of dumping the whole bottle of red out on her white carpet, just for fun. “I wanted to try something new.”

“What part are you playing?” asks Cher, leaning down from the couch to steal the bottle. Louis gives her the warmest smile he can muster, because at least she isn’t playing against him.

“Danny Zuko,” he turns to Leigh, his words leaving no room for argument. “It’s the lead.”

“Theatre is so sketchy,” Eleanor says, leaning a bejeweled hand over the side of the couch. “The boys are so gross.”

“Well I’m not doing it for the boys, either,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows at everyone involved. He hates the conversation, he hates that nothing is good enough for them, that he can’t just have one thing for himself. They are gross, Nick is ridiculous and the chorus is made up of weirdo freshman. The girls wear cardigans from Target and their shoes are sometimes knockoffs but they sing well and he knows that none of them care whether or not his khakis are name brand.

“When’s the show?” Jesy asks.

“This Saturday,” Louis replies, his voice going bitter. “Then I’ll be back at tennis and we can forget about all of it.”

“I think I have something that day,” Leigh says, and Louis doesn’t care if she’s lying or not.

“Me too,” Jesy agrees lazily, and they’re ganging up on him. He knows this game and he can’t sit and watch it play out.

“That’s too bad,” he replies, standing up on wobbly legs and heading for the stairs. “I’m leaving, this is lame.”

“Nice of you to make it,” Leigh says, and Louis doesn’t respond, just takes the stairs two at a time and fights down waves of nausea as he texts Zayn to pick him up. He meant to stay until the booze wore off, but he’s tipsy and and irritated and he wants to fall asleep in the passenger seat of Zayn’s car.

He ends up walking down Leigh’s street as he waits for Zayn to pull up next to him, eyeing the enormous beige castles and feeling deflated. He doesn’t feel like a king anymore and he doesn’t know quite when that happened. He thinks it might have to do with Harry, but he can’t find the turning point.

They wouldn’t have dared do that to him last year, too afraid that he’d come back and ruin them. He wouldn’t have gone out for the musical last year either. Maybe this life is better, he’s still not sure. 

Zayn texts back ‘on my way, Pezza’s here too’ and Louis sits on the curb and wonders why he feels like crying. He doesn’t entirely know what he’s gained and what he’s lost but the slowdance has played in his head since the night ended and when he’s singing everything feels okay. 

He wants to text Harry and ask him overly personal questions. He wants to sneak through his window and sleep next to him so he doesn’t have to be alone. He doesn’t know why they all hate him now, or if they were all just waiting for a chance to cut him loose. If he’s being honest, he never had a reason to destroy many of the people he did, except that he wanted to hurt someone.

It’s growing dark, so he walks until he’s underneath a streetlamp, the light casting everything in orange, and then texts Zayn the address of the house he’s sitting in front of. 

He’s worked himself nearly to tears when Zayn pulls up, rolling down the window to call out to him. “Everything okay?”

“Clearly not,” Louis replies, blinking back the watering of his eyes and coming around to the passenger side, only to find Perrie sitting shotgun. She climbs out when she sees him standing there, reaching out a hand like she wants to comfort him somehow, but seems to decide against it. 

“Thanks,” he tells her, flopping into the passenger seat even though he knows he should refuse and take the back. It’s not like he does nice things for other people anyway.

“You want to go home or to mine?” Zayn asks, turning out of the neighborhood. 

“Yours,” Louis says, then glances back at Perrie. “Unless you guys are doing something, I can leave, sorry if this is inconvenient.”

Zayn lets out an exhale that feels like it should be punctuated by smoke. “We were just going to watch tv, it’s fine.”

He feels like he should put up a front, at least for Perrie’s sake, but he’s falling to ruin away, it’s not like it really matters anymore. “Thanks.”

“What happened?” Zayn asks, sneaking a glance at Louis as they try to watch the road. “Was it about you and...?” 

“No,” Louis replies, acutely aware of Perrie in the back. Zayn is the only one who’ll ever know about that, Louis doesn’t care how much they like Perrie. “They all found out about the musical and then decided to be shitty about it.”

“Leigh Anne’s a bitch,” Perrie offers from the back, leaning her chin on Zayn’s seat. “Her opinion doesn’t mean shit.”

Louis gives her a smile even though he’s just as bitchy as Leigh Anne. He thinks the worst part of all of this is that he’d do the same thing in a second, would cut anyone’s throat just to stay on top, and now that it’s been turned on him all it feels like is restitution. “Thanks, love.”

“Rebecca was talking to me in gym, she says you’re fantastic.” Perrie smiles, and it’s almost nice that she doesn’t understand the extent to which his life is crumbling. 

“You coming to see the show?” Louis asks, and it’s some bizarre mix of charming and helpless. 

“Of course,” she replies sweetly, all pale pink lips and curled hair. “Grease is such a great musical.”

Louis likes her more every minute. He never thought about her as anything more than another clone in expensive clothing, but she’s sweeter than she pretends. He doesn’t know if Zayn saw through it or if they just got lucky. “It’s my favorite.”

“I might like Hairspray better, but they’re both tops.” she responds, and Louis manages a smile. “Zayn, can we watch Hairspray?”

They fight a grin and Louis pokes them in the thigh until they lose. “I’m trying to drive here, thanks Lou. And yes, we can watch Hairspray.”

“Yay!” Perrie leans into the front to give Zayn a peck on the cheek and Louis laughs at the pale pink that rushes up into their face.

Everything is turning to dust in his fingers around him but he’ll always have Zayn and that’s a comfort. He watches Perrie as she completely ignores her seatbelt in favor of leaning up against Zayn’s seat and hopes that everything works out between them, that someone can have a happy ending because that’s how fairy tales are supposed to work. 

 

xx

 

The curtain is minutes from opening, and Louis is okay. He’s standing in the center waiting for Rebecca to get her mic on, his hands in the pockets of his T Bird jacket. Zayn has already come around to tell him he’ll be great, a headset shoved over their quiff and their usual calm manner beyond frazzled. 

Louis is going over his lines in his head, fighting the urge to scream and hide in his car. He wants this, wants the feeling of the lights on him and wants to take the bow at the end and know that he did this, but the show looks scary from this side.

“Doing okay?” Harry asks from behind him, draping an arm over Louis’ shoulder like he knows how much Louis needs the contact. Louis leans into him and nods, his excitement and terror so close he can’t tell the difference.

“Stage fright is so real,” he replies, switching his mic off with a shaky laugh. “I feel like I might pass out.”

“Don’t do that, if Grimshaw has to come in as understudy it’s not going to be pretty.” Harry replies, giving him a smile. His curls are slicked back and Louis wants to mess them up. He wants to do something stupid and romantic like wash his hair and press kisses to the back of his neck after he washes the soap out. 

“I’d probably come to my senses just to stop him from singing Alone At The Drive In Movie.” Louis replies, grimacing at the very thought.

“You’re the best Danny, you’re going to be great. Just do what you always do,” Harry says, grinning too big and too sweet. 

“That’s the plan,” Louis replies. There’s nothing left for him to do, they’ve been practicing for months and now he just has to do it, slip into the character and let himself go. Being someone else for a few hours doesn’t sound too bad.

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Harry says, quietly almost like he’s afraid it’ll stick to the walls, like it’s personal and only for them.

“Thankyou,” Louis replies, leaning into the crook of his shoulder. “I’m proud of me too, actually.”

“Good,” Harry replies, and someone hisses at them to get in place, and Rebecca comes racing on stage her mic half on and they’re pulled apart until the low lights. Harry’s words race through his head and he keeps his chin up and pops his collar and for the next two hours, he’s Danny Zuko.

The show doesn’t feel real, he feels the most alive he can remember being. A few underclassmen stumble over their lines and there’s a mishap with a prop but everything runs smoothly, Louis tumbling through the center of it. He sings and catches the eyes of people in the audience, parents and kids he doesn’t know, their eyes shining in the spotlights. 

When the show is finally over and he’s holding Rebecca’s hand as they take their final bows, Louis finally finds his family in the audience. They’re standing up and clapping, and Lottie is waving around a bouquet of roses in a display far from her usual coolness. 

The applause echoes in the auditorium and all Louis feels is joy.

 

xx

 

Cast parties are delightfully lame. There are finger sandwiches and bowls of chips and no one drinks but everyone hangs off of each other and acts like they’re drunk. They all match in their show shirts and Rebecca’s mom has ordered an enormous cake that features Sandy and Danny dancing in icing. 

Louis was only going to make an appearance for an hour or two, but it’s 1AM and he’s sitting nearly in Harry’s lap, chatting with theatre girls and a few greasy boys. Zayn and Perrie are definitely kissing in a corner of the basement, which is adorable, but definitely means Louis is going to tease Zayn until the day they die. 

Nick is sitting on the ground and Louis is pretending he doesn’t notice the glances he keeps shooting and him and Harry. He’s pretty sure Nick has some idea of what’s going on, even if no one else does, and he’s hoping that spring will turn into summer and he’ll forget about it before tarnishing Louis’ reputation even further. It’s not like anything has happened between him and Harry, or like anything ever will. In Louis’ world, he doesn’t get those kinds of things. 

“Okay, okay, but like, Harry, you can’t move, you have to be the lead next year,” one of the pink ladies says from the floor, gesturing wildly in Harry’s direction. 

“It’s not my fault, I’d stay here if I could,” Harry says, pouting at her. “You don’t need me, you have other boys.”

She makes a face, and Louis wonders if she’s flirting with him and tries to quell the rush of vindictive possessiveness. He’s not about that anymore. “Yeah but you’d be perfect! What if we did Drowsy Chaperone and Harry was Adolfo, would anything be better than that?”

Rebecca lets out a cackle, clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh my god I’d probably cry.”

Louis has no idea what the Drowsy Chaperone is, but they all look deliriously happy about it in the low light, and so he smiles along. Harry lets out a low pitched ‘heyyyyy’ that only makes all of them laugh harder.

“Maybe we’ll have another Louis,” one of them suggests from where she’s laying against Nick. “Secret theatre prodigies.”

“I’m one of a kind,” Louis inserts holding up an authoritative finger.

“Why did you try out, anyway?” Rebecca asks, leaning into the circle to look at him. “I never would have thought you’d do theatre.”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, trying to figure out how much of his heart to bare. “I don’t do a lot of things for myself, really,” he begins, leaning into Harry for support. “And I like Grease a lot and I wasn’t really cool with anyone else playing Danny? So I just, did it?”

“You’re perfect for the role really, it’s a little scary,” Rebecca replies, giving him an encouraging smile

Louis grins, feeling his cheeks heat with the praise. “Thanks. I’m really glad I did it, I was super afraid to actually. And when my friends found out they all gave me shit for it, so that was crap.” It almost feels like too much to share but they’re all watching him with warm eyes and he feels like he could say anything and they’d understand.

“No offense, but I hate pretty much all of your friends,” one of the older girls says, making a face. “Definitely hated you actually, sorry if that’s rude.”

“Only a little,” Louis shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better, they definitely hate each other too.” He felt like what he and Zayn had was some anomaly, that everyone felt about their friends how Louis felt about his, that the pit of fear and dislike was normal. He’s beginning to realize that friendship is supposed to be different.

“I feel like we’re learning about the secret life of Massachusetts’ elite,” Rebecca says with a laugh and Harry pokes Louis in the side just for fun. 

“It’s all pretty mundane,” Louis replies, playing with his rolex self consciously. He thinks this might be the first time he’s even admitted it to himself, that being one of them was never that great. It was boredom, and sparring, and never feeling good enough. It was power, but the fickle kind.

“Lavish parties and beautiful people just get so dull after a while,” one of the girls says melodramatically, and Louis laughs along even though it feels like a punch to the gut. Being Louis Tomlinson is like living in an aquarium. It looks beautiful from the outside, all clear blue water and shimmering fish with lovely fins. It’s all he has, but it’s still a cage.

 

xx

 

Louis can’t remember ever being called for a family meeting, and when he bumps into Lottie in the hall after receiving a text that says only ‘meet your father and I in the big dining room’ and finds she’s gotten one too, he feels like he might pass out. 

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses at him, sticking her phone in the pocket of her Juicy sweats with a glare. 

“Nothing!” he protests, trying not to let panic overwhelm him. All his secrets feel like they’re about to burst to the surface, all the truths about Harry and everything else. “Are you sure you didn’t do something?”

“Positive!” Lottie replies indignantly, but she looks as scared as he feels.

When they make it down to the large dining room, Fizzy and Phoebe are already sitting at the table across from his mom and step dad, who look profoundly distressed in ways parents shouldn’t. 

“Is everything okay?” Louis asks, his chair screeching on the hardwood as he pulls it out. 

“Your father has some unfortunate news,” his mother begins uncertainly, and Louis notices the deflection of blame. So it’s him, not mom.

She seals her lips shut, looking around the table and then back at his step dad, and Louis wishes they’d just come out with it. He can deal with another divorce, probably. He’ll be off at college, it doesn’t fucking matter what his parents do. None of his thoughts really make sense, he isn’t entirely sure he can still breathe.

“You all know the company has been dealing with some monetary problems this year.” She says, regaining the brisk tone she takes with some of the servants. Louis didn’t know this, whether they didn’t tell him or he didn’t care, he isn’t sure.

She takes a deep breath, and the bomb drops. “You father made some investments that didn’t work out like we’d hoped. We’re very deep in debt, we’re going to have to sell the house.”

There are a lot of particulars, and Louis doesn’t understand much. Fizzy won’t stop crying and Lottie keeps picking up her phone and then setting it down again, and Louis wants to scream and ask his mom what’s happening, but all he can manage are malformed questions she doesn’t seem fully equipped to answer. His step dad looks like he’d rather disappear than be here, and Louis can empathize.

“Do other people know?” he asks, as Fizzy sniffles and Phoebe goes to join her.

“Everyone will find out eventually,” she replies, sitting as primly as she always does, straight backed in her chair. Louis wishes he was younger, that he could just cry and pretend none of it was happening.

“Do we have like, anything?” he continues, trying to understand a life where everything he knows is missing. 

“It’s not the end of the world, we’re not going to end up on the street,” she replies, and he’d hate her for being so calm if he wasn’t sure it was a front. Everyone copes by pretending. 

The last question sticks on his lips, but he knows he has to ask it. “Yale?”

There’s a loaded silence before she gives the smallest shake of her head. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

He gets up, pushing his chair in, and he’s in tears by the time he gets to his room. He takes his phone from his desk with shaking fingers and texts Zayn and Harry the same thing: please come over, something horrible has happened.

Zayn gets there first, disheveled in their sweatpants and tee shirt, and doesn’t question Louis’ tears, just holds him to their chest and lets him blubber out the story. Harry sneaks in later, dressed up from a fancy dinner, and plays with Louis’ fingers until he calms down enough to stop crying.

“This is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me,” Louis says, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. Harry reaches up with the sleeve to brush against Louis’ pink cheek. “They’re going to eat me alive.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Zayn says, and the words don’t even make sense to him. 

“They all hate me already,” Louis responds, wishing there was something for him to rip apart that wasn’t already broken. “I don’t have anything else but this and I can’t get it back.”

“You have other things,” Zayn says, and Louis feels like he’s spiraling but all he can feel is hopelessness. He hates the way he stopped being good enough for them, and he can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“But I had everything,” Louis says quietly.

“I know,” Zayn replies, their voice soft like a lullaby. “I know, but it’s going to be okay.”

“How could it possibly be okay?” Louis spits. The sun is starting to set through the window, the sun lighting the sky up orange and red so it looks like fire. Louis feels like he’s burning alive.

“You still have us,” Harry says tentatively, the first words he’s spoken since he sat down. “That doesn’t change.”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says quietly, and he’s just going to have to make that enough for now, even though he doesn’t know where he’s going in the fall anymore, even though his home won’t belong to him much longer. 

“You want to watch a movie maybe?” Zayn asks, running long fingers over Louis’ shoulder. “Or we could just talk, whatever you want.”

“I snuck some macaroons for you,” Harry says, reaching down to gather a white cardboard box from the floor and pressing it into Louis’ hands. He opens it, finding the box filled to the brim with the pretty colored treats, and he takes a bite of one.

“It’s raspberry,” he says, and manages a small smile. He leans over to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek as a thankyou, because nothing matters and he can take whatever he wants. Harry blushes a pretty pink and Louis takes that too. “I feel so heavy.” He takes another bite, tries to focus on the sugar rush and pretend nothing has to change. “Can we watch the Breakfast Club? It should be in the cabinet.”

Louis crawls under his covers as Zayn gets the movie, pulling his sheets up to his chest and watching Harry with sleepy eyes. “You can come under if you’d like?”

“Really?” Harry asks, and Louis knows he’s the reason Harry’s so afraid to be closer to him. They’re in each other’s space but he’s never the one who gives, who opens up his chest and lets Harry step inside. He might as well, he needs something to put in there.

“Yeah,” Louis says, opening up the sheets and letting him slide inside, in his khakis and sweater with the pressed collar sticking out the top. He almost tells him to take it off but they aren’t like that, and he’s not brave enough. “You too Zayn.”

“I’m coming, hold on,” Zayn says, and they’re missing their usual hint of exasperation.

“Well hurry up,” Louis replies, giving Zayn a wavering smile as they queue up the movie and crawl into Louis’ bed. The movie rolls as the the outdoor light fades to blackness. There’s a brief moment where someone in the house is screaming at someone else but it dies out before the scene ends and Louis clutches his blankets and doesn’t mention it.

He mostly watches the movie, but really it’s just an excuse to be close to Zayn and Harry without having to say anything. He can lean into the arm Zayn has around his shoulder and feel the warm press of Harry’s body and he doesn’t have to try to articulate how empty he feels. 

After it’s over, Zayn puts in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Louis laughs at some of the funny parts because Zayn and Harry do. It’s nearly over when Zayn digs their phone out of their pocket, the pale light from the screen washing their face out.

“I gotta go love, you going to be okay?” they ask, still pressed against Louis’ side. He has the vague impression that if he told Zayn to stay, they would, and thats enough for him to nod.

“Go ahead, I’ll be okay,” he trips over the next words. “Thanks for like, you know. Being here.”

“Of course,” Zayn replies, sliding out of the bed and ruffling Louis’ hair. He’d usually protest, but it’s nice to be touched. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“No,” Louis replies, sliding under the covers. “Probably.”

“No one will know for a few days. If you’re lucky, we’ll graduate before word gets round.” Zayn says, and they both know it’s unlikely, but it’s a nice idea. Everyone will find out too fast, and it’ll be brutal. As if Louis hasn’t lost enough.

“I’ll probably be there. Mom will make me go if nothing else,” Louis says, because he hasn’t gotten out of school since that time he had a 103 degree fever, and even then his mom had almost medicated him and sent him out the door anyway.

Zayn glances at their phone again, a smile alighting on their face. “I told Perrie I was here because you were feeling sad and she wants to know what your favorite candy is.”

“Sour Patch Kids,” Louis says, then frowns . “That’s so nice of her to do. Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s nice,” Zayn replies. “Because people love you.”

Louis sniffles, and tries for a smile. “See you tomorrow, Zayn.”

“Damn right you will,” Zayn replies, picking up their hoodie from the chair and slipping out of the room, leaving Louis alone with Harry. He’d feign tiredness and send him home in any other situation, but he doesn’t think he can be alone right now. Alone has never been good for him, he always needs someone to keep him from his thoughts.

“Want to watch another movie?” Harry asks softly, resting a hand on Louis’ arm.

“Not really,” Louis replies. He wants to be in someone else’s mind, he wants to sleep and not dream. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asks, worry seeping into his voice like he’s just afraid of Louis sending him away as Louis is of him leaving.

“Please don’t go,” Louis replies, and he’s crumbling now. It’s dark and its just Harry and the christmas lights strung up around his room. It’s just Harry and all of the sadness. 

“I wouldn’t,” Harry says, peeling back the blankets to sit cross legged on Louis’ comforter. Louis does the same, facing him and taking another macaroon out of the box. Lemon. 

“Good,” Louis says, reaching out to tap a finger against Harry’s knee. He sighs deep, wondering if he could stop time and stay here in this room with Harry forever. In that version, they’re in love and all they have to do is kiss. In that version, Louis has gold plated lips and Harry has emeralds for eyes and it all belongs to them. 

“How can I make you feel better?” Harry asks, looking entreating and careful in the low light. 

“I don’t know,” Louis responds. Harry doesn’t answer, just slides off the bed and walks over to Louis’ desk. “What are you doing?”

“Trying my best,” Harry responds, shuffling papers around until he finds the pretty silver tiara he’d given Louis for Christmas. It’s still as lovely as the day Louis unwrapped it. He sits back down in front of Louis, placing the crown carefully on his mussed up hair. “You’re still a king.”

Louis feels like he might cry again, and then he is, eyes going glassy before he can remind himself that he doesn’t cry in front of other people. He’s already broken that rule once tonight.

“I’m so sorry, was that not-”

Louis shushes him, wiping at his eyes and looking back up at Harry, who’s staring at him in a way that makes his blood run faster. “What?”

There’s a moment where Louis isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and then another when Louis is positive Harry is going to kiss him, and then Harry’s kissing him. It’s quick and gentle, just a moment of his lips, and it feels like a brush of forest fire against his mouth. 

“Always surprising, Harry,” Louis manages, reaching up to keep the crown on his head.

Harry looks down at the bedspread, his cheeks flushed. “You aren’t surprised.”

Louis smiles, just the smallest flash of teeth. “No, I’m not.” He scoots forward on his knees, nudging his forehead against Harry’s until he looks up. He could end this here but he won’t, because he’s never as strong as he pretends. He’s going to do something for himself, for once. “Make me feel better.”

Harry huffs out a breath, leaning forward to kiss Louis again, cupping his jaw in a too warm hand and pulling him closer with the other. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and lets their bodies go flush. It’s a reprieve of the dance and they’re both wearing too many clothes, they’re both not close enough. 

Harry tastes like macaroons and has that boy smell about him and Louis needs every part of this, everything Harry can give him. It’s the last broken piece of his puzzle and maybe it’ll all collapse after this, but he can’t seem to care when Harry is so warm beside him and he’s rucking up Louis’ shirt and pressing his hands against the warm skin of Louis’ back.

Louis wants to be eaten alive. 

He kisses Harry hard enough that it’s almost violence and likes the way Harry’s tongue makes him dizzy, makes it hard to keep himself oriented. Makes it hard to think. Harry pulls back to look at him, running his hands over Louis’ lips and across his cheeks like he’s trying to learn him.

“I wanted you so much, you know. I wanted you on that first night and I never thought you’d let me touch you,” Harry says, low and cracked and too personal for either of them. Louis gasps it in like oxygen. “I just wanted you to love me so much and I thought maybe you never would. I love you so much that it makes me fucking stupid.”

Louis nods, and he still has tears on his face but they’ve stopped coming, because there isn’t any room in his body for any emotions other than this, this choking feeling that makes him feel cold and warm and the same time. Maybe this is love, he doesn’t know. “Me too,” he manages finally, because words always stick in his throat and he’s awful at this.

Harry presses his lips against his for just a moment. “You too what?”

Louis stares at him with wide eyes, trying to make the words come out. It’s only a few moments later when Harry shakes his head, kissing Louis with a smile on his lips. “I won’t make you say it, love.”

Louis clutches him tighter, pulls him in because that’s the best he has. Harry lets him breathe, kissing down his neck and sucking bruises against Louis’ winter white skin. Louis wriggles under the touch of his lips, tangling his hands in Harry’s curls and pressing up against him. Harry moves under the collar of his shirt, and Louis pushes him away long enough to rip it over his head, because he wants Harry to have all of him. He can’t remember ever feeling that for anyone. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry murmurs, and Louis almost asks him to repeat it. He doesn’t, just lets out a wordless response that’s a little like a moan. “I’m serious, you’re the most beautiful thing.”

“So are you,” Louis rasps back, wrung out from crying and feeling so much. He can’t always say what he means but he can repeat it back sometimes. You too, whatever Harry has the courage to say, you too.

He tugs at Harry’s buttons, trying to work them open with shaking fingers and giving a quiet grin as they rip open, one skittering across the floor. He runs his hands over the soft firmness of Harry’s chest, soaking in his warmth. Everything will be okay if he just buries his fears in Harry’s mouth.

He pulls Harry down on top of him, their knees knocking as they slide against each other, finding the places they can rest. Louis strokes his fingers across Harry’s cheeks, trembling on the edge of his jawline as he lets himself be kissed. He wants to lean up to Harry’s ear and whisper ‘take me over’ so that he can be done with it, so Harry can press under his skin and let him lose himself.

Harry’s hands come to the buttons on Louis’ pants and he fumbles at the catches. “Is this okay, should I keep going?” he asks, his lips bright pink and wet when they form the words. Louis runs his thumb across his lower lip, and shivers with it. 

“Please,” Louis whispers and he can’t tell if it comes out like a command or a plea. Everything is sliding together, and he’s caught up in how delightfully wrong all of this is. He shouldn’t be kissing Harry, but it only makes Louis want to kiss him harder.

Harry undresses him with careful fingers, and Louis watches him, naked on the sheets, as he slips his pants off and returns to kiss Louis. “You kiss so much,” Louis says with a gasping little laugh, nudging his nose against Harry’s as he tries to steal another.

“Because I love you,” Harry replies easily, kissing him again and letting their bodies press together. Louis can feel Harry’s cock against his leg and rubs up against it, gasping at the way it makes Harry moan into his mouth. There’s something gratifying about knowing he’s the reason for that.

Louis ruts up against Harry, squirming underneath him to try and get some friction before tearing a hand out of Harry’s curls and running it up his shaft in a few quick strokes. 

“Are you a virgin?” Harry whispers, one hand running down Louis’ side to clutch and the soft skin of his hip, pressing him down against the mattress. 

Louis almost doesn’t answer, but finally nods, and wonders if that’s an invitation. “Are you?” He’s almost afraid to know the answer, doesn’t know if it’s better for him to be scared and inexperienced too or to let Harry take care of him. 

“No,” Harry says, running a thumb across the line of Louis’ jaw. “Is that fine?”

Louis nods, running his hands through Harry’s hair and letting his eyes shut. Harry sucks at the skin of his neck, and Louis mewls as he touches on places he bruised earlier. “Of course.”

“Good,” Harry replies, scooting down to press kisses down Louis’ breastbone and across the gentle rise of his stomach. Louis gasps, clutching the sheets with sweaty hands to try and stay still for him. 

Louis’ cock is full and leaking against his stomach and he’d almost be embarrassed if Harry was any less hard. As it is, he feels only quiet desperation tempered by rushes of joy. 

“Can I suck you?” Harry asks, and Louis lets out a manic laugh. 

“God, please,” he says, threading his hands into Harry’s hair and tugging when Harry goes down on him. Harry moans around his cock, and Louis feels faint with how Harry’s lips stretch, pink and wet.

Louis wants to say something, thank him maybe, but the only thing he can feel is Harry’s mouth on his, warm and lovely as he sucks him deeper. He thinks maybe Harry will stop, but he takes him all the way in, big green eyes watching him as he does.

“You look so good,” Louis murmurs in a quick burst of air. He’s flushed pink with the embarrassment of all of it, the crown discarded on the pillow, everything he never dared to feel swirling around on the surface. Love is a riptide and it wants to bring him under.

He can barely think straight, the heat of Harry’s mouth the only thing he’s really aware of, all the old embers in his heart catching back alight. He wants Harry inside him, wants to feel nothing but that, wants to feel anything other than empty. He doesn’t know how to ask for it.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can last with Harry running his tongue over his slit and watching him with glassy green eyes so he tugs at his hair and shakes his head until Harry comes up for breath. 

“You still okay?” Harry rasps, crawling back to Louis chest and running careful fingers through his sweat damp hair.

“Yeah,” Louis says, running his fingers over the planes of Harry’s back. “Can I ask for something?”

Harry nods, hair falling down in front of his eyes. It’s getting too long and Louis brushes it back. He wants to take care of him, wants to tease him and get kisses in return. It’s horrible, and he wants all of it.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Harry murmurs, and then stills. “I’m sorry, I just-” he blushes red and Louis kisses his forehead and pretends he isn’t into it. “Sometimes I call you that in my head.”

“I am a princess,” Louis replies, twirling a strand of Harry’s curls around his finger. “I’m the princess.” He’s blushing pink too and they’re both so out of their depth, but he just wants Harry to say it again, to wear the crown on his head and be the best and the prettiest thing.

“You are,” Harry replies, warm enough to melt Louis to the bone. “What did you want to ask?”

Louis leans in, ghosting his lips over the shell of Harry’s ear. The words are terrifying in his mouth but they give him power and he wants that. He doesn’t let other people tell him what he wants anymore. That’s the old him. “I want you to fuck me.” His breath hitches and he tries again. “And I want to ride you.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s expecting Harry to say no until he kisses him in response, rough lips and hands that pull Louis just that much nearer to everything. “Whatever you want,” Harry says, running his hands over the curves of Louis’ body like he wants to keep them.

Louis smiles and he’s less empty than he was before. He touches himself lazily as Harry digs around in his wallet for a condom, crawling back on the bed and sitting on his knees in front of Louis. “Do you want to open yourself up or should I?”

Louis shudders a little at the words and pretends he isn’t afraid. “I don’t know how to do it?”

“I’ll do it then?” They’re speaking in questions and all Louis can do is nod and try not to let himself becoming overwhelmed by all of it. 

“Okay,” Louis replies, propping himself up pillows. Spreading his legs feels dirty so he keeps his knees pressed together a bit longer, looking up at Harry through his fringe. “There’s lotion on the bedside.”

Harry looks like he’s forgotten how to speak, and presses his fingers to Louis’ knees, gently bringing them apart and kissing his kneecaps when Louis blushes and turns away. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” Harry says, and his voice barely even breaks.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Louis assures him, gasping when Harry’s finger brushes across his hole. Harry’s careful at first, all careful touches and gentle movements like he doesn’t want Louis to be afraid.

By the time he presses the first finger completely inside, Louis is writhing and gasping for it, his eyes shut tight and his hands fisted in the sheets. Harry kisses his stomach as he does it, clever movements and soft murmuring of praise. He thinks he might catch alight before Harry is finished, shuddering into flame before he can even fuck him.

“I think I’m ready,” Louis says after what feels like forever, after a million years where the only thing is Harry’s hands.

Harry nods, pushing his hair back from his face and giving Louis the sort of smile that makes everything that much closer to okay. He lays back onto an elbow, sliding the condom on with one hand and staring up at Louis with that half smile on his face. It’s that same smirky grin he wore the first time they met, but it’s tempered by softness now, warm eyes and a dimple that digs into his cheek. 

Louis crawls forward, his thighs bracketing Harry’s. “I’m nervous,” he says, fiddling with his hair.

“That’s okay, take your time,” Harry replies, running his hands over Louis’ thighs in gentle comforting strokes. “We could just kiss for a while if you’d like?”

Louis purses his lips, scooting up closer so he’s poised to sink down on him. “I can do it,” he replies, setting Harry’s hands on his hips and letting himself be guided down. He moves slow, gasping and letting out broken little moans as he takes him all the way in.

He feels like he’s been holding his breath for years when he finally bottoms out, huffing quick breaths as he tries to ground himself. Harry is so big inside him, filling him up and making his thoughts swirl.

“Can you move, princess?” Harry asks gently, running his fingers across Louis’ hips in careful circles, like he’s trying not to hurt him.

Louis nods, shifting his hips just the smallest amount, and grinning when they both let out identical gasps. He does it again, bracing himself with one of Harry’s hands and placing the other on the soft part of his stomach. He can feel Harry inside him, the way his cock moves when Harry’s hips shift up of their own accord and when Louis rolls his hips just so. It’s so fragile between them, breathing that won’t slow and cheeks hot with blood and love. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry repeats in a whisper like a mantra and a prayer, looking up at him like he holds all the answers. Louis just smiles his agreement, reaching his hand to Harry’s shoulder and trying to tug him up. Harry shifts so he’s sitting up, Louis sprawled in his lap, the movements uneven and almost too much to bear. 

Louis rocks his hips against Harry’s and they try for something like a rhythm, everything slowing down and speeding up. Louis feels like he has matches in his stomach, like they’ve all been lit at once and he’s burning down to the ground. They’re both going to go up in flames, the bed and Harry and the house they can’t afford anymore. 

They’re going to burn until all that’s left are their skeletons in this bed and then maybe they’ll go to a place where that none of this matters anymore, where the only thing that matters is the way their lips felt and that they loved each other, or at least tried to. Louis will always wear the crown and Harry will kiss his fingers and be his court jester, his knight in shining armor, his king. 

Louis comes in a series of hiccuping moans that Harry echoes, and they clean themselves up with one of Louis’ old tee shirts before falling into bed. Harry falls asleep too fast and Louis sits up in bed as the wind howls outside and Harry breathes softly next to him. In the morning Harry is gone, left with a note that promises to see him at school.

The ashes scatter to the wind. 

 

xx

 

Louis knocks on Lottie’s door in his school uniform, with a purpling bruise growing on his neck. Seeing it only makes him want to hit himself harder, bruise his whole body so next time maybe he won’t be so stupid. 

“What?” she yells out into the hall, and it sounds like she’s been crying. He pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Can you help me with something?” he asks quietly, mouth close to the door. He hates that he needs help at all, but he can’t have the evidence of what he’s done shining bloody on his neck. None of his wounds are ever allowed to show. 

“What the hell do you want?” she asks, her hair a mess when he answers the door. Her eyes are red and he can’t imagine he looks any better, but he’s grateful for her. 

“I need you to cover this,” he says, pointing to the spot on his neck. “Please.”

She stares at him for a long moment, blue gray eyes just the same as his. He almost thinks she’s going to turn him away before she sighs and yanks the door open. “Fine.”

She sits him down at her vanity chair, examining the hickey with a clinical sort of precision. “Impressive.”

“Yeah,” he replies, blushing pink at the memories it brings back.

“Who gave it to you?” she asks, taking out her makeup pots and inspecting him like she’s a doctor. When Louis doesn’t reply she screws up her mouth unhappily, taking a brush and going to work. “Was it Cher? You two were really cute at prom, but I didn’t think it was anything more than friends.”

Louis doesn’t reply, but Lottie doesn’t seem deterred. “Leigh, maybe? One of the theatre girls?” she purses her lips, giving him a long look. “Harry Styles?”

“Why would it be Harry Styles?” Louis replies frostily, even though he’s so, so afraid.

“I hear rumors,” she replies easily, then gives him a hard look. “Also I’m not stupid, like you seem to forget.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Louis replies tiredly. “It’s just a secret. A stupid fucking secret.”

“Liking a boy doesn’t have to be a secret,” Lottie says crisply. “You two are cute.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, and he’s blushing even harder than before. “But it’s not like, a thing. I just felt really terrible last night.”

“Me too,” Lottie replies, and Louis can see the way her porcelain edges are beginning to crack. 

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” he says, reaching for her hand and taking it. It’s mostly something he has to say, because he’s her older brother and he’s supposed to fix this. He threads their fingers together, tight so she can’t pull her hand away and pretend she doesn’t care. “You’ll always have me.”

She sniffs, and he can see tears at the edge of all of it, but she won’t cry them out and he respects that. “Lets just get this hickey covered,” she replies, gentle hands on his neck.

He lets her work, and it has to be enough.

 

xx

 

He sees Zayn first, and it’s a blessing because he can fall into them and not have to look anyone else in the eye. They smell like expensive cologne and smoke and Louis would prefer to live in their arms. 

“How you doing, love?” Zayn asks, running a hand over Louis back. 

“Okay,” Louis replies, even though his whole body feels sore, the bruises on his neck reaching all the way into his lungs and heart. “I did a bad thing.”

Zayn stiffens, just enough for Louis to notice, pausing to look down at them with worry in their eyes. “How bad?”

“Just stupid,” Louis replies, and he can’t say the words. It was perfect but all of it falls apart in the daylight. “It involves Harry.”

“Oh no, Love,” Zayn says quietly, releasing Louis but keeping him nestled into their side. “Did you two fight?”

Louis looks over in surprise. “No?”

Recognition passes across Zayn’s face, and Louis looks at the dirty linoleum, shame coloring his face pink. “The other kind of bad then?”

Louis sighs deep. “Clearly.”

“Did you two talk about it afterwards?” Zayn asks, their voice gentle like they’re afraid to hurt him. Louis doesn’t know when he became so breakable. 

“No, we fell asleep and then he left before I woke up,” Louis replies, deflated and tired. He doesn’t even want to put himself back together, would rather fall apart. He can’t feel if he leaves his head and his heart in difference places.

“So what happens now?” Zayn asks, and Louis just shrugs, because he has no idea. He’s just glad Zayn doesn’t try and pretend it’s an easy decision, like he and Harry falling into each other means the hard parts are over. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to him,” Louis replies, and it’s only when he tries to dig his phone out of his pocket that he realizes his hands are shaking. “I don’t want to see him, really.”

“Was it bad?” Zayn asks, their brow furrowing in concern.

“No,” Louis replies curtly, blushing through him at the memory. “It felt like an ending, like I have to move on now. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Zayn doesn’t answer for a long minute, just watches their classmates file by in excited swarms of skirts and button ups. Some of them give Louis curious glances, but he looks at the lockers and ceiling instead of staring back. “You’re sabotaging this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” Louis replies, taking a sudden interest in his cuticles. “It’s already ruined. There’s nothing else left.”

“Are you afraid he won’t love you if you aren’t rich and popular?” Zayn asks, and Louis gives them a look, because they’re in the middle of the hallway.

“Keep your fucking voice down,” Louis replies, a scowl on his face. “It’s over, I don’t care.”

“You’re the worst at being hurt, you know,” Zayn says, in the stupid honest way they have. Just once, Louis wishes he could get away with being horrible without being made to feel horrible for it.

“I already know I’m the worst, thank you Zayn.” Louis replies, shifting out of their grip and stalking down the hallway, face drawn up tight so he won’t cry. He makes it out to the field, and spends first period pulling up handfuls of grass and letting tears slide down his face.

 

xx

 

Louis eats lunch in the art room with Zayn, for once. He still hasn’t forgiven them, but he can’t think of any other place to hide, so he just slowly eats his sandwich at the long table. 

“You still mad?” Zayn asks, unfinished math homework in front of them.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, trying to force down some food even though he’s nothing close to hungry.

“Okay,” Zayn replies, going back to their work. It’s frustrating, because Louis is a grenade waiting for his pin to be pulled, but can’t explode when Zayn stays so calm. He almost wishes Harry would show up so he could scream at something.

Perrie shows up a few minutes later in a neatly pressed skirt and her hair in a long braid. She smiles when she sees him, pushing a bag of sour patch kids across the table, and it only makes Louis want to cry more. He mumbles an inadequate thankyou and Zayn glares at him, but Perrie just gives him a sweet smile and doesn’t say anything more. There’s a terrifying finality to everything, and Louis has the sense that there’s nothing left for him. 

Louis watches the two of them talk, feeling like an outlaw listening from the brush, jumpy and afraid they’ll try and tug him out of the shadows. Perrie tries to talk to him, briefly, then gives up, as Louis sits and sucks on the gummy candy. 

Louis’ phone buzzes, and even before he looks at the text he knows it’s going to be Harry. 

 

Harry

where are you eating, you aren’t out with the others?

 

“You going to answer?” Zayn asks, and Louis glares, because they both know he won’t.

“Nothing to say,” Louis replies. He wants to lash out and he wants to be forgiven.

“That’s clearly not true,” Zayn replies, and Perrie is watching them nervously, a frown pulling at her bubblegum pink lips. 

“It’s not your choice,” Louis replies, pulling himself up to look Zayn in the eyes. “You forced me to be friends with him when I said I didn’t want to, and so now if you could just let me make my own decisions, that would be awesome.”

Louis can see the hurt wash across Zayn’s face and he feels poison in his lungs but he doesn’t back down. 

“I just want you to be happy,” Zayn replies, sweeping a finger in slow circles on the table. “And I thought he’d make you happy.”

Louis just watches them for a long moment, then creeps a hand across the table and covers Zayn’s hand with it, keeping them still. “I don’t need him to be happy.”

“I know,” Zayn says, pushing their other hand up through their hair. They look resigned, and Louis wants to tear his own fucking heart out. 

“I mean, it worked, for a bit,” Louis says, avoiding Perrie’s eyes and focusing on the way his hand lays over Zayn’s. “But I have to put myself together right now. It’s too much.”

“So you’re breaking up?” Zayn asks, a frown tugging on their lips. Perrie is silent beside them, and Louis wants to stamp on Zayn’s foot and make them stop spilling Louis’ secrets. He doesn’t bother.

“We weren’t together. We were just like,” he waves his hands around, trying to find the words. Breakable, stupid, special, temporary. “I can’t talk to him anymore.”

“You’re going to break his heart,” Zayn says, and shakes his head when Louis starts to protest. “I’m not going to do anything else after this, but I just wanted to tell you. If you do this, you’re hurting him too.”

“I know,” Louis says, squeezing Zayn’s hand in his. It’s awful but he can’t figure out any other way to do it, how to patch up his life with a confounding and lovely boy at his heels. A boy who is weeks from packing up and settling down in a sunny place he can’t visit. A boy who isn’t what he needs anymore.

Zayn doesn’t answer, but they keep their hand under Louis’. It feels like he’s at the edge of a dock, his feet just over the edge, the water churning underneath him. It’s the beginning of taking down and rebuilding, of finding new things to take and call his own. He’s stepped into the fire before, thrown off his old skin and become new and better. He can do it again, and maybe this time he’ll find a version of himself that doesn’t hurt.

 

xx

 

Louis finishes school in a blur of teasing and walking alone in the hallways, and hiding with Zayn and Perrie from all the things he used to seek out. Leigh laughs outright the first time she sees him, which Louis thinks is a little bit put upon and unnecessary, but he isn’t surprised. The servants start being let go, and Louis helps his mom prepare dinner, and they all eat spaghetti at the dining room table like they’re still a family.

He starts applying at coffee shops and retail stores that make him nervous, but as long as Zayn waits for him in the car he can do it. He avoids Harry like the plague, pretends that as long he doesn’t see him he won’t be sad. He deletes most of his texts, and after a few days Harry stops sending so many.

Harry catches up to him when Louis decides to walk home on the first warm day, shoving his blazer into his backpack and letting the sun dapple his arms. He hasn’t started to color up yet, but he’s hoping that if he spends a few days lying out in the sun his skin will start to shine golden again.

Louis hears his name being called from behind and he tries not to stiffen, sneaking a glance over his shoulder. He only needs a glimpse to know it’s Harry, his curly hair flopping as he jogs to catch up to Louis.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all week,” Harry says, flushed and out of breath, and Louis feels so far away. Louis doesn’t feel better than him, doesn’t want to acquire him or beat him or own him.

“Yeah, I’ve been kinda distracted,” Louis replies, giving him a shrug. He thinks Harry must already know, wonders if he’s going to try and take Louis back, if he’ll fight for him. Louis hopes he doesn’t try anything that exhausting.

“I know,” Harry replies, his voice resigned, kicking a pebble across the sidewalk. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I already know you’re going to,” Louis replies lightly, and Harry shrugs, eyes on the ground.

“If situations were different, would you be with me?” his voice is quiet and Louis almost wishes he couldn’t hear it at all.

“Different how?” Louis asks, because he can’t even imagine. If situations were different, he probably wouldn’t have let Harry kiss him. If things were different he wouldn’t have fallen apart that night and he wouldn’t have fallen into Harry’s arms. 

“Like, if you weren’t having money problems? If I wasn’t moving?” Harry asks, almost like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to say it.

“If things weren’t so messed up we wouldn’t have been together at all,” Louis replies, because if his friends weren’t terrible he wouldn’t have needed Harry and if he wasn’t so lonely the musical wouldn’t have meant so much to him. “It’s not like, simple.”

“I know,” Harry replies. “Zayn told me not to take it personally.”

Louis glances over at him, at the pale boy with the stupid curls and pressed khaki pants who looked so big at night outside his gate. He can feel himself becoming a memory in Harry’s mind, just the first boy to ever break his heart.

“Zayn’s right,” Louis replies. “I’m sorry, I need to do my own thing right now and you’re going to California. And I am scared. I’m trying to move past that but I’m not past it yet.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Harry replies.

“You make my life complicated,” Louis replies, trying to speak softly, trying to tell him this isn’t his fault. “And I need time to figure everything out.”

“What about after you figure everything out?” Harry asks, his lower lip stuck out like a kid.

“You’ll be in sunny California,” Louis replies, trying to smile. “But I don’t know where I’ll be yet.”

“When you’ve figured it out, you can come find me,” Harry says, barely audible over the sounds of their feet.

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, then nods. “Maybe I will.”

It’s not a promise, and Louis knows that by the time he has the pieces of his life back together Harry will have moved on, they’ll have built new lives around new people and it won’t feel as important as it does this moment. He says it anyway, and they walk the rest of the way home in silence.

 

xx

 

Louis applies to community college in the messy aftermath, Zayn sitting next to him for moral support. Every time Louis thinks about the future his throat closes up, but Zayn rests their chin on his shoulder and their warm presence is comforting enough that he can keep going.

“God, I wish this wasn’t my life,” Louis says, sitting back with a sigh.

“I know, babe,” Zayn says, their voice soft in the evening quiet. They’re hiding at Zayn’s house since Louis’ is broken chaos, at once silent and stifling. “But you’re going to be okay wherever you go.”

“I hope so,” Louis replies. “Like, I didn’t even think about how much Yale cost before this, it didn’t matter to me.”

“You take it for granted I guess,” Zayn says, leaning back in their chair with a frown. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening, I barely believed you when you told me.”

“Still doesn’t feel real,” Louis replies. “Still waiting for the April Fools.” He lets out an empty laugh, and they both know it’s a coping mechanism. 

“Compromise isn’t all bad though, it only seems that way right now,” Zayn says slowly, their eyes soft. 

Louis leans forward to ruffle Zayn’s hair, grinning when they squirm away. “So inspirational.”

“I know what it’s like to not get what you want, and usually it turns out okay,” they reply, giving an elegant shrug of their shoulders. “Sometimes better than if you’d gotten what you wanted in the first place.”

“Thanks,” Louis replies, reaching out to twine his fingers with Zayn’s. He swings their hands back and forth so it doesn’t seem like such an obvious plea to be touched. “I’m hoping at least one of us will end up okay.”

“I’m hoping for two for two,” Zayn replies easily, biting at the thumbnail of their free hand, black nail polish chipped and old. “Go click submit before you can chicken out.”

Louis sticks his tongue out but he clicks the button. The page reloads with a sense of finality. It feels like an ending even though he hasn’t even been accepted yet, like he’s closing old dreams and trying to pull new ones out of the ashes. He still wants Yale, with its tradition and prestige, but he’ll be okay here too. Maybe even better than okay, he doesn’t know yet.

“Look at it this way, if you’re paying for it, your parents can’t tell you shit,” Zayn says, leaning an elbow on the table. “You can major in whatever you want and do whatever you want.”

“But I don’t know even what I want to major in,” Louis replies with a crooked smile. “I don’t have your grand, artistic dreams.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some use for your devious mind,” Zayn replies, nudging Louis’ knee with their own. “Just figure out what you’re good at and do it.”

Louis nudges them reluctantly back.

 

xx

 

Louis is lying on his bed watching his fourth episode of the Office when he hears a timid knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” He looks up from the screen. “Who is it?”

The door squeaks open and Lottie pokes her head through, her platinum blonde hair pulled up on top of her head, chestnut colored roots just starting to show. “Just me.”

“What’s up?” He asks, smiling over at her. She’s wearing a pair of ratty juicy sweats and a tank top he’s pretty sure is his, but she’s still in full makeup. Louis admires her commitment to presentability. 

“I need your help,” she says, leaning up against his doorframe. “I’m going through my clothes and trying to figure out what I want to sell.”

“I’m impressed,” Louis says, rolling out of bed and following her down the hall. He’d gone through his stuff a few days prior upon Zayn’s request that he keep himself busy, and it had been just as horrible as he’d feared.

“It’s not like I have time to wear all of it anyway,” Lottie replies, throwing open the door to her room, where pretty fabrics and mismatched shoes litter the carpet. “But I’m still so attached to all of it.”

“You don’t have to get rid of your favorite things,” Louis replies, because his burberry coat and favorite pants still hang in his closet. “There’s no use in having to buy a bunch of new clothes.”

“But I want to keep all of it,” she replies, kicking a louboutin across the messy carpet.

“Pick two purses to keep, a big one and a smaller one,” Louis says, flopping back on her pale pink bedspread. “You don’t need that many, really.”

Lottie grimaces, picking up her black birkin. “I can’t get rid of this one.”

“Then don’t.” Louis replies, sitting up on his elbows. “But you only get to pick one other one.”

“This is horrible,” Lottie says, sitting down with a thump and hugging her purse to her chest. “How the hell are you coping so well with this?”

Louis glances out into the garden, the topiary in the front already looking bedraggled with the absence of the staff. The garden will be overgrown in a few months unless someone else buys the house, someone with enough money to keep everything looking beautiful. Louis misses it already. “There aren’t any other options really. Like, it’s happening whether I can cope with it or not.”

“Don’t you hate it?” she asks, pink mouth turned down at the corners.

“Of course,” Louis replies, because he hasn’t slept well since they told him, hasn’t thought about anything without being afraid of the future. “But Zayn keeps telling me that this is the worst part, and they’re probably right.”

“What if it just keeps getting worse?” Lottie asks, watching him like they’re both kids again and he has all the answers. It makes him feel old.

“I certainly hope it doesn’t. Downhill slope from here seems pretty unlikely,” Louis replies. “It can’t be the end of the world, it’s just hard.”

She nods, setting the birkin down on a clean patch of carpet and throwing a little blue wristlet next to it. “Okay, those are my purses.”

“Good start,” Louis replies, watching as she picks up the other miscellaneous bags thrown around the room and sets them in another pile.

“Whoever buys these better fucking appreciate them,” she says, kissing a prada bag and setting it on top of the sell pile. 

“I’m sure they will,” Louis replies, feeling a swelling sense of pride as she moves on to shoes, moving a pair of heels. “You know, it’s just stuff, really.”

She nods, tossing a pair of keds into the other pile. “I know.”

“It’s not what matters,” he says, and she nods.

“I know.”

He watches her sort, and leaves it at that.

 

xx

Harry leaves on a lemon scented morning in July, the moving trucks filing up the drive in a sluggish line as all of Harry’s stuff gets packed up and shipped away. Louis watches from his window and contemplates the brown moving boxes that litter his own room. 

It’s mostly symbolic, as Louis knows he’s probably already on a plane to California, but watching the boxes leave the house he feels a deep pang of loss. He almost contemplates texting Harry a picture of the house, telling him he’s missed, but he doesn’t. It’s not his place to do that anymore, even more now than before.

It’s the same shifting of all the things he used to take for granted, the same movement of the ground underneath his feet. 

He’s beginning to get used to that sort of thing.

 

xx

 

Zayn calls him in tears, and it’s two panicked minutes before Louis realizes they’re happy ones.

“You scared the shit out of me!” He crows into the mouthpiece, a grin splitting his face as Zayn lets out a watery laugh.

“I told her and she just like-” he hiccups, and Louis can barely remember a time when Zayn cried like this, feels the joy of it all swell in his chest. “Kissed me? And she said it was going to be confusing but she’d try for me?”

Louis sits on his bed, the same comforter on a different bedframe in the apartment they’re renting until they get back on their feet, whenever that is. “I told you months ago that she’d accept you,” Louis says triumphantly.

“I honestly thought I was going to pass out I was so nervous,” Zayn says, their voice still unsteady but forming full sentences now. “I was so afraid she wouldn’t get it.”

“When she put makeup on you at prom, that was when I knew she was a keeper,” Louis replies, still smiling too hard in the gray quiet. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too,” Zayn replies, and Louis thanks all the deities he can think of that at least some things go right. It feels like a grander ray of hope, even though it’s just one kid and a lovely girl. “I feel like everything’s going to be okay, which is a little overly optimistic I guess.”

“Nah,” Louis replies. “Not overly optimistic at all.”

 

xx

 

By the time Louis gets accepted to community college, he’s sharing an apartment with two other guys and bartends the nights he isn’t waiting tables.

“I’m literally getting paid to flirt with people, it’s incredible,” he tells Zayn and Perrie one night over chinese takeout. Even without his money, he’s still damn good at that.

“Little charmer, aren’t you,” Zayn replies, giving a reluctant eyeroll from the other edge of the couch. 

“Make a killing in tips, I’m sure,” Perrie says, grinning at him over her lo mein. 

He gives her a wink, and Zayn mimes tossing a chopstick at him. “No flirting with my girlfriend.”

“I can’t help how effortlessly charming I am,” Louis replies, blowing them kisses. “You can both share me.”

“Well I don’t want my half,” Zayn says.

“Who says you get a whole half?” Louis replies, spearing a piece of orange chicken. If there’s anything good that’s come of losing everything, becoming familiar with Dragon Star’s entire menu might be it. Zayn would probably contribute something about the positive changes in Louis’ moral character and overall agency, but Zayn needs to chill most of the time. 

“Mail for you.” One of Louis’ roommates, a beefy looking, teddy bear named Liam drops a few letters into Louis’ lap. “Hey guys.”

Louis waves in response, flipping past a bill and a thick envelope that has the college printed across the front. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit what?” Zayn asks, and Louis would laugh at the panic in their voice if his hands weren’t shaking. It’s not like Yale, where he was so sure he wouldn’t get in, that he wouldn’t be good enough, but it still feels like judgment day. 

“Acceptance letter,” Louis murmurs, tearing open the envelope and skimming the letter until he sees the word congratulations. “Oh thank god.”

“Did you get in?” Perrie asks, nearly spilling her noodles as she scoots close to him in excitement. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies, staring down at the letter like it’ll tell him something more than that. This is his future now, this piece of paper with a school he never thought of going to printed on the front, but he knows it’s not as bad as he might have thought once. His mom will frown when he tells her, because she feels guilty about everything that’s happened, but he still feels proud of himself. 

It’s not the future he wanted, not the one he pictured when he had the crown pricked into his skin, but it’s his and no one can tell him what to do with it. Even after everything, the crown is still there. He’s still the motherfucking king.

He waves the paper in the air as Perrie and Zayn give him an only partially serious round of applause. “College here I come, bitches.”

 

xx

 

Louis leans up against the fence, the wet grass sticking to his bare feet and a bottle of shitty beer in his hand. It’s a late August night at the beginning of his junior year and he’s tipsy but not drunk yet, in the backyard of some girl from his english class.

“It was this girl at work, and she was honestly the prettiest person I’ve ever met, and we spent the whole summer scooping ice cream and kissing after hours,” a dark haired girl by the porch says, puffing lightly on a cigarette. “And like, I definitely had girlfriends before her but she was for sure my first love.”

The group lets out a collective ‘aww’ and Louis grins and gives her snaps with his free hand. 

“Lou! Your first love! Come on, you’re the only one who hasn’t gone,” a girl with tattoos all up her arms says, giving him a few encouraging snaps. 

“Okay,” Louis begins, taking a swig and looking back up at the stars. He doesn’t revisit this story too often, but it’s a good one. “There was this guy my senior year, and I pretended for the whole year that I didn’t like him. He was the one who made me do Grease, he was like, this weird combination of cocky and really vulnerable?”

Everyone is watching him friendly eyes, all lit up golden in the light of the bonfire. 

“A ton of weird shit ended up happening at the end of that year, so we finally hooked up, and it was amazing. And even though we didn’t end up together, I still think he would be my first love.”

Louis traces his thumb over the faded stick and poke on his thigh, smiling wryly at the muddled memories of how he used to be. He’s told most of them the whole story, about how he used to be terrible and stupid, and how he still has to fight it sometimes. They didn’t grow up rich and don’t know what it’s like, but they genuinely care when he tells them how bad it was to lose everything, and that’s better than he used to have. He still has Zayn but he has other people now, all caring and warm and more than superficial. 

He never told Harry he loved him, but he’s pretty sure he must have known. Their drifting apart still breaks his heart a little, how they talked a few times after Harry went to California, while Louis was still muddling through minimum wage and the divorce and selling everything. Sometimes he still wonders about that offer, the way Harry had looked so hopeful when he’d said to go find him.

It’s a nice fantasy, but he has everything he needs now; friends and hope and a future that won’t crumble in his fingertips.

 

xx

__

_The black car parks on the side of the road and Louis watches as the passenger stumbles out; tall, curly haired, and in a black peacoat. He peers closer, realizing with a start exactly who it is._

_It pulls him back like a car that stops too fast, throwing him back into his seat to a time when he was young and afraid and didn’t know anything about anyone yet. He remembers having tiny wrists and Yale dreams that all fell apart that horrible summer. It was a horrible summer, even though he was peeling off his fake skin and stepping into a better self, his old self, a new self that didn’t hurt him so much._

_He went to community college after all, and joined theatre because that was the only place he’d ever really felt accepted. He doesn’t entirely know how that turned into a theatre major and a career teaching drama, but it’s his third year, he just finished putting on Our Town, and he can’t regret any of it._

_The public school kids are so different from the kids he knew back in high school; multifaceted and interesting beyond the kinds of shoes they wear. He might be being unfair, but he can’t forget all the awful looks he got that last week of school, when Leigh laughed at him and he realized he wasn’t anything anymore._

_Rebuilding himself had been a process. It had been learning how to be honest and being okay with imperfection. It was realizing that being selfish and putting himself first weren’t the same thing._

_Zayn had turned out alright too, still balancing animating and art with a desk job they’re so close to quitting. They’d broken up with Perrie a few years back, after she moved to London and started kissing girls, but they’re with a fiery little irish girl now who Louis likes almost as much. He still remembers how happy Zayn sounded over the phone as they told Louis that Perrie had been okay with the genderqueer thing. It’s one of the bright spots of that awful summer._

_The worst thing was the way he and Harry fell apart. In retrospect, it’s his fault, and he knows that. He doesn’t regret cutting the tie, especially not when he thinks about how he put his life back together all by himself, from nothing more than fears and dreams. He’s had relationships in the years since then, ones that almost came close to that sort of happiness. He doesn’t know if it was teenage naiveté or if he and Harry had something that special. He likes to hope it’s the latter._

_He pulls his worn leather wallet from his pocket, throwing two twenties on the seat and scrambling into the winter weather to follow old dreams._

_“Keep the change,” he says, closing the door with a snap and jogging onto the sidewalk, a still familiar name on his lips. The wind whips at his face as he closes the distance between them, and he nearly slips as he catches the sleeve of Harry’s coat, smiling up at him on reflex._

_He means to say hello, but the first thing that falls from his cold lips is: “I found you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> YEAHHHHHHH WOHOOOO if you liked it, kudos and comments are always appreciated  
> catch me on tumblr @infinitylourry and @hellagrumpy (:


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